Deeds of Maidenly Unkindness
by Marcus Rowland
Summary: Buffy and Willow go off to teach in Britain. Will the school survive the experience? St. Trinians book and film crossover. Rating change for sexual innuendo.
1. Prologue

This is a crossover between BtVS and a well-known British series of films and books (to be revealed in due course). Minor spoilers up to season 7 of Buffy. Set after Season 7 BtVS, after Season 4 Angel. 

All characters belong to their respective creators / film companies / etc. and are used without permission. This story may only be distributed on a non-profit-making basis. 

Work in Progress. If you like this story, check out my other stories on the Fanfiction Net, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fonts of Wisdom websites. 

I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it. 

* * *

**Deeds of Maidenly Unkindness**

_by Marcus L. Rowland_

Prologue

"Are you really sure about this, Buffy?" asked Giles, looking out of his apartment window at the Cleveland skyline. 

"Look, you're the one who encouraged me to get back into college and work for a teaching qualification, and if I say so myself I've done pretty well. But I need some practical experience and so does Willow. We both need at least a semester working in a school." 

"But why in Britain?" 

"Don't know if you've noticed, Giles, but Sunnydale has kinda an odd reputation in American educational circles. You tell people you've no teaching experience but went to school or college there, they're not too anxious to trust you. But if we can get some experience somewhere else things'll be a lot easier." 

"That's right," said Willow. "Besides, it'll give me a chance to visit the coven, get some quality time with them." 

"They're really short of teachers in Britain right now," said Buffy, "That's why it's so good, the teaching agency pays for our travel and accommodation, even pays us wages. It's only April through to the end of July, not that big a deal." 

"Well, I suppose that if you're determined I shouldn't stand in your way. Things are quiet her at the moment, and it might be a good idea to give some of the other girls more responsibility. What about Kennedy and Dawn though?" 

"To be honest, I was kinda hoping that Dawn could stay with you while we're away. You're actually closer to the high school than I am, and you've got that big spare room." 

"The big spare room filled with my books and personal belongings, some of priceless antiquarian value, that I only rescued from Sunnydale by the skin of my teeth?" 

"Sure. It's about time you got them organised, Dawn can give you a hand." 

"Buffy, are you serious?" 

"Sure, it'll be good for you. Besides, think how much it'll help me..." 

"No... Definitely no... Oh dear lord, do stop pouting... Please... Oh, very well. But if she breaks anything it comes out of her allowance." 

"That's great, Giles," said Buffy, hugging him. 

"I still need to breathe, Buffy, so please stop breaking my ribs." 

"Oops, sorry." 

"I'll live. What about Kennedy, Willow?" 

"Her family has an apartment in London," said Willow, "She was thinking of borrowing it and living there for a few months so that we can get some time together. And of course it'll give us a great place to stay when we hit London for shopping." 

"You won't be teaching in London?" 

"The agency says most of their vacancies are in provincial private schools, or small public schools, which they say is like private schools only higher class, but either way it'll probably be a boarding school way out in the country. They've promised that we'll go to the same school, so that'll be cool." 

"Well, it does sound reasonably pleasant, I suppose. When will you be given the details?" 

"Could be any time now. Reminds me, I should check for mail. Okay if I plug my laptop in?" 

"Of course, Willow. After all, you arranged to put in the internet connection, it would be pointless not to use it." 

"Don't worry, once Dawn is here it'll be seeing plenty of use." 

"So long as she doesn't tamper with any dark forces." 

"Sheesh, you let one tiny demon escape into the internet... Here we are, mail from Searle's Academic Agency, London. Let's see _'Miss Rosenberg, I'm pleased to confirm that we have been able to arrange places for both yourself and Miss Summers at the same school. In view of the lateness of your application only one school could be found with two suitable places, but I hope that you will find it satisfactory. As discussed you will be teaching science and information technology, Miss Summers will be assisting with sports and physical training. Since the school in question is anxious to fill these posts we have been able to arrange for payment on the band normally reserved for newly qualified teachers, paying approximately $250 per week each after tax. Accommodation and all meals will be provided by the school.'"_

"That's very generous for student teachers," said Giles. 

"Shush. _'Please note that teachers are expected to participate in sports and other activities on at least one weekend in three.'_ That isn't so good... I guess it's part of being a boarding school. What else do they say? Umm.. _'On acceptance transport will be arranged; we would expect you to travel during the week of 2nd-5th April, returning to the USA after July 20th. The work permits normally available will allow you to stay in Britain until the end of September, should you wish to remain in Britain for a longer period. We trust that these arrangements blah blah blah'_ That's odd, they don't actually name the school." 

"Are you sure?" said Buffy, "That seems a little strange." 

"Oh, it's okay, there's a link to the school's web site. Here we go. Hmm, I wonder how you pronounce that. Giles?" 

"What?" 

"The name of this school is kinda odd, what do you make of it?" 

"Let's see. Hmm... Oh dear lord. What have you done?" He sat, hard, and took off his glasses and began to clean them furiously. 

"It's not that hard, surely. Let's see... Saint Trinian's. That sound right to you, Buffy?" 

"Sure. Buffy and Willow, the new American teachers at Saint Trinian's. It has a nice ring to it. Giles, are you okay? Giles?" 

"I think he's kinda gasping here, Buffy, get him a glass of water." 

On the computer screen, unnoticed, the page had scrolled to the school song: 

_Maidens of St Trinian's  
Gird your armour on.  
Grab the nearest weapon  
Never mind which one!  
The battle's to the strongest  
Might is always right,  
Trample on the weakest  
Glory in their plight!  
St Trinian's! St Trinian's!  
Our battle cry.  
St Trinian's! St Trinian's!  
Will never die!_

_Stride towards your fortune  
Boldly on your way.  
Never once forgetting  
There's one born every day.  
Let our motto be broadcast  
"Get your blow in first,"  
She who draws the sword last  
Always comes off worst.  
(Shout) St Trinian's! St Trinian's! etc_  
  
- Sidney Gilliat (to a tune by Malcolm Arnold) 

_**TBC**_

* * *

Author's note: This story is based on the St. Trinian's books and cartoons by the late Ronald Searle, with occasional references to the (somewhat less harsh) films that have been made of them. The title comes from _School Hymn for St. Trinian's_ by Robert Graves. 

For a good web reference to these stories see users.netmatters.co.uk/ju90/ron.htm 


	2. I

This is a crossover between Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the St. Trinian's films and books inspired by the cartoons of Ronald Searle. Minor spoilers up to season 7 of Buffy. Set after Season 7 BtVS, after Season 4 Angel. Since there is no real St. Trinian's continuity a mixture of characters from the films, books, etc. has been used. For a good web reference to the St. Trinians stories see users.netmatters.co.uk/ju90/ron.htm 

All characters belong to their respective creators / film companies / etc. and are used without permission, and without any intention of damaging their owners copyright. This story may only be distributed on a non-profit-making basis. 

Work in Progress. If you like this story, check out my other stories on the Fanfiction Net, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fonts of Wisdom websites. 

I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it. 

* * *

**Deeds of Maidenly Unkindness**

_by Marcus L. Rowland_

I

Flash Harry sidled through the back gate and sneaked through the shrubbery towards the kitchen door, holding his nose as he passed the dustbins. Miss Millicent Fritton B.A., D.Phil, O.B.E., headmistress of St. Trinians, a delicate-looking spinster in her sixties and former ladies welterweight boxing champion, looked down at him fondly from her study window and vaguely wondered why he was bothering to sneak, since he was there to see her. 

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door; she cautiously looked through a wide-angle viewer before letting Harry in. Even in the holidays there were still a few children staying at St. Trinian's, and they tended to be bored and unusually inventive when there were no lessons. Often they used their time devising traps for their teachers and classmates, and Miss Fritton valued her health too highly to risk it taking foolish chances. 

Harry, in his late thirties, was one of the traditions of St. Trinian's, the fourth consecutive member of his extensive family to serve as the school's unofficial bookie, fixer, bootlegger and black marketeer. Miss Fritton had often considered describing their role in the school prospectus, but didn't think the Ministry of Education, or whatever dreadful acronym the government was calling it these days, would quite appreciate their useful talents. Like all of his predecessors he had a curious rolling walk, she imagined it was some genetic abnormality or a family fondness for over-tight shoes, wore his dark hair heavily Brylcreamed, and favoured over-tight suits with padded shoulders. 

"Good morning, Harry. Anything good today?" 

"Sexy Billy in the three-thirty at Newmarket, a friend of a friend tells me the fix is in." 

"Old news. I don't much like the odds on him, and a little bird tells me they'll be running drug tests if he wins. Anything else?" 

"Freudian Slip in the two o'clock at Kempton. They've been weighting her too heavily the last three times she ran, this time they'll handicap her honest-like and she'll romp home at fifty to one." 

"Hmm..." She picked up the racing page and studied it for a few seconds, then said "All right, I'll go for a pony on her." 

"Twenty-five quid? You sure about that?" 

"Maybe you're right. Let's make it a century, if it pays off it'll cover the down-payment on the repairs to the science wing. Poor Miss Perkins, she would insist on teaching the children about nitroglycerin..." 

"Well, that and she was selling the stuff to Fingers O'Rourke for his.. ahem.. locksmith business. Okay, a hundred quid to win, Freudian Slip, two o'clock, Kempton." 

"Good lad, put it on my slate. Now then, to business. Gin?" 

"Don't mind if I do." She poured him a generous glass. 

"Bottoms up. Any news of our recruits?" 

"Ought to be coming in at Gatwick Airport tomorrow. They're going to visit friends in London for a few days then get here for the seventh of April." 

"And there won't be any, ah, trouble with the tickets?" 

"No chance. Paid for them on the Searle Agency Mastercard account, that gets paid by The Little Sisters of Poverty account at the Banque de Suisse in Basle, Basle gets paid from the Daughters of the Suffragette Movement pension fund in the Cayman Islands, they get paid from the Widows and Orphans of the Tectonic Plate Movement fund in Miami, and Miami won't know that we've cleared out the account until the end of the month. It'll be well into May before that gets back to the airline, and even then Honest George ought to be able to stall them for another few weeks before they call the fraud squad in. And there won't be anything left at the agency to link it back to us after George has his little accident with the blowtorch and the can of paint thinner." 

"And the same with the salaries?" 

"That's a bit more complicated because the birds'll be here, but basically similar. They don't get paid for the first two weeks, then they'll get three or four weeks wages before the cheques start to bounce, maybe seven or eight weeks into the term, but that's the agency's fault, not yours. After that you ought to be able to stall them until the end of term, it's only another five or six weeks. After all, you'll be paying for their food and accommodation, where else are they going to go?" 

"What about their flights home? I really don't want them stranded in Britain, they might ask too many embarrassing questions." 

"Not a problem, I've got someone owes me a few favours, works for a company that flies horses between Britain and the USA. We'll get them aboard as stable girls, fly them back to Boston." 

"I thought you said they came from Cleveland." 

"Same country, won't be too hard for them to get home." 

"That sounds excellent, Harry. And you're quite sure they're qualified?" 

"You saw the marks they got at college. They're not actually qualified teachers, not as such, but they're as close to it as you're going to get without paying real money. Always assuming you could find someone in Britain that was daft enough to go for the jobs." 

"Excellent. I think that we can safely say that we will have a full complement of staff this term." 

"If nobody official notices that they're unqualified unsupervised foreign teachers." 

"Harry, be charitable. Nobody's perfect." 

* * * * *

"Are you sure this is it?" asked Kennedy, stopping her rented BMW saloon on the far side of the road from a grotesque Victorian building that stood in extensive grounds behind a tall brick wall topped with rotating spikes. 

"The sign says St. Trinian's School," Willow pointed out. "Admittedly it looks like a cross between the Addams Family mansion and something Escher might have drawn, and half of the roof of one wing seems to be missing, but it's definitely the right place." 

"This is gonna be great," said Buffy. "Like 'The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie' or 'Goodbye Mister Chips', except we're younger and prettier and female. A prestige British boarding school, it'll be so cool." 

"So long as Giles was exaggerating," said Kennedy. 

"Sure, like they'd really lynch three teachers and set the building on fire." 

"Buffy..." Willow said nervously, "that building _has_ been set on fire. At least three or four times, if you look at the different colours of the brickwork." 

"Okay then... anyone getting any Hellmouthy vibes?" 

Willow closed her eyes and extended her magical senses for a moment. "Not as such. Let's see... rage, frustrated sexual tensions, pain, fear, and several violent deaths, but not a Hellmouth as such." 

"Any old building's bound to have some sort of history." 

"This is all comparatively recent." 

"Oh." 

"What do you want to do?" asked Kennedy. 

"We've signed contracts and we need the experience," said Buffy. "We go in and we do the job we're being paid to do. But we stay alert and keep our guards up. Willow, are you okay with that?" 

"Sure," said Willow, "so long as you don't mind me taking a few precautions." 

"So long as your hair stays red you can do what you like." 

"I'll do my best. Kennedy, we'll stay in contact by phone and e-mail and stick to our plan to meet up in London in two weeks. If we don't show come looking for us, and bring the heavy weapons." 

"Troll hammer?" asked Kennedy. 

"Troll hammer," confirmed Buffy. "Rocket launcher if you think you need it." 

"Cool." 

"Kennedy, there are times when you remind me of me. You want to watch that." 

"I'll start worrying about it the day I boink my first vampire." 

"Har de har. Okay, let's get this show on the road." 

Kennedy put the car into gear and turned into the long gravel drive that led up to the front entrance of St. Trinian's. Two heavily acned girls aged thirteen or fourteen, both wearing black school uniforms with white blouses and striped ties, were sitting near the door, watching them with a mixture of mild interest and mild loathing. They unloaded the car, and Kennedy kissed Willow (to the girls' undisguised interest and cheers from another couple of girls lurking in the shrubbery) then drove off. A polite voice said "Ahem", and they looked up to see a frail-looking old lady, wearing a floral chiffon dress and gold pince-nez glasses, standing in the entrance. 

"Miss Summers, Miss Rosenberg? So pleased to meet you." They shook hands. "I'm Millicent Fritton, the headmistress. Welcome to St. Trinian's. Doreen, Matilda, please help your new teachers with their luggage. Once we've shown you your rooms perhaps you'll join me in my study, then meet some of the other staff." 

One of the girls reached for Buffy's weapons bag, and she quickly said "I'll take that one, it's kinda heavy." Willow unobtrusively made sure that she kept hold of the bag containing her laptop and magical supplies. 

"Sports equipment?" asked Miss Fritton. 

"That's right. Fencing, archery, martial arts supplies, that sort of thing." 

"Oh good, I'm so glad to see you're taking your responsibilities seriously, so many teachers expect that the school will supply their every need." She led the way up wide stairs, at the first landing pointing out her study, then up three progressively narrower flights to a dimly-lit corridor with peeling brown wallpaper. "These are the junior staff bedrooms. They are perhaps a little Spartan, but I think you'll find that they have all the essential amenities. Bed, electric light, wash basin and so forth. Miss Summers, you shall have room 12, Miss Rosenberg 12A. I hope they will be satisfactory." 

Buffy gloomily looked at a dingy room that was lit by a bare 40-watt lamp and a small dirty window. There was an ancient electric iron plugged into the light fitting by a long frayed cable. The bed looked lumpy and uncomfortable, and seemed to sag slightly at one corner. Willow's room was a little better, but had an odd pattern of dark stains on one wall. 

"What happened there?" asked Willow. 

"Oh, that was poor Miss Jones," Miss Fritton said briskly, "she had an unfortunate accident with her shotgun. Most unwise to bring it to school, I fear, that sort of thing is just asking for trouble. Here are the keys to your rooms, I'd advise keeping them locked at all times, we encourage the children to be honest but there are occasional unfortunate exceptions. I'll just show you the bathroom," she opened a door to reveal a cold-looking tiled shrine to Victorian plumbing, both Americans guessed accurately that the hot water wouldn't work very well, "you'll be sharing it with the other teachers along this corridor, and next to it is an additional WC. Now, if you'd like to join me downstairs in ten or fifteen minutes I'll explain your duties, then I'll prevail upon some of our young ladies to show you around the school." 

"Okay," said Buffy, "see you downstairs." 

Willow asked "What do you make of this?" after Miss Fritton and the girls had gone. 

"It's kinda primitive, but it's only for three months. We might be able to fix things up a little." 

"Nearer four months. I'll work some mojo later, deal with the worst of it. I meant the whole setup here, don't you think it's kinda sinister? I'm beginning to think that Giles was right." 

"Maybe, but they might just be short of money. Miss Fritton seemed like a nice old lady." 

"So did the demon that tried to eat us when you worked at Doublemeat Palace." 

"Think positive, Willow." 

"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you." 

* * * * *

"...so you see," Miss Fritton said twenty minutes later, "while other schools prefer to deal with the cream of the social crop, we are less exclusive. We will take anyone, regardless of race, creed, social standing or criminal record, provided that our fees are paid, and pride ourselves on turning out accomplished young ladies eminently fitted to take their rightful place in society." 

"When you say criminal record," said Buffy, "is that common amongst the students?" 

"More so their parents, alas. At various times we have had members of every eminent criminal family in the land amongst our pupils; Parents Day is sometimes a little traumatic if a gang war is in progress. As a result our students may not always be model citizens, although I'm pleased to say that there has only been one minor stabbing and two arson attempts this year. Apart from the explosion, of course." 

"Stabbing?" squeaked Willow. "Arson attempts? Explosion?" 

"I'm sure that you've seen worse, it's my understanding that the American educational system sees its fair share of violence. Which brings me to an important matter. Since you are Americans, I'm obliged to ask you if you've bought any firearms onto the premises." 

"No guns," said Buffy, "just some archery supplies." Buffy's conscience twinged a little, but she guessed that three heavy crossbows with armour-piercing bolts could loosely be described that way. 

"You're quite sure?" 

"Positive." 

"Damn. I could have got you a good price for them if you had, one of our parents is an.. ahem.. collector. Of course I would have wanted a modest percentage for school funds." 

"Would that be legal?" asked Willow. 

"Do you know, my dear, I've never asked." 

"You mentioned funds," said Buffy, "is there a problem there?" 

"Unfortunately yes. As a private school we receive no funding from the state, and since many of our parents are members of the criminal classes their school fees tend to be paid late or prove to be counterfeit. We've also had a little bad luck with our investments, which began when one of my predecessors traded our entire portfolio for stock in the White Star Line and Lloyds less than a week before the Titanic sank. To be honest, we are holding on by the skin of our teeth, and must look at all possible sources of revenue. Any suggestions would be gratefully received. Now, I think I've covered everything, if you'd like to come along to the staff room I'll introduce you to everyone who's here. Most of the staff are on holiday, but some of us just can't seem to tear ourselves away." 

"What about our department heads?" asked Willow, "Will they be back before the beginning of term?" 

"Department heads? Ah... There may be a small problem there, Miss Perkins isn't expected to make a full recovery for several months, and Miss Ballard seems to have.. ah.. done a runner with most of our sports trophies." 

"Miss Perkins being..?" 

"Head of science and information technology." 

"And Miss Ballard?" asked Buffy, guessing the answer. 

"The sports mistress." 

"So in other words," said Willow, "we're doing this by ourselves." 

"I suppose you are, really," said Miss Fritton, "but imagine the references I'll be able to give you if you do a good job. Now, can I persuade you to change your minds and have a little gin?" 

_**TBC**_


	3. II

This is a crossover between Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the St. Trinian's films and books inspired by the cartoons of Ronald Searle. Minor spoilers up to season 7 of Buffy. Set after Season 7 BtVS, after Season 4 Angel. Since there is no real St. Trinian's continuity a mixture of characters from the films, books, etc. has been used. For a good web reference to the St. Trinians stories see users.netmatters.co.uk/ju90/ron.htm 

All characters belong to their respective creators / film companies / etc. and are used without permission, and without any intention of damaging their owners copyright. This story may only be distributed on a non-profit-making basis. 

Work in Progress. If you like this story, check out my other stories on the Fanfiction Net, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fonts of Wisdom websites. 

I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it. 

* * *

**Deeds of Maidenly Unkindness**

_by Marcus L. Rowland_

II

"...and this is the staff room," said Miss Fritton, opening a heavy wooden door and releasing a faint dour of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and rotting cabbage, "our quiet little refuge away from the hurly-burly of teaching. Most of the staff are on leave, of course." 

She led Buffy and Willow into a cluttered room with half a dozen tables, some moth-eaten armchairs and sofas, chintz curtains, and piles of books and papers, most of them dusty and cobwebbed. There was a dart-board at one end of the room, with a man's photograph under the wire. In it were stuck four miss-matched darts, a sword-shaped letter opener, and a small meat cleaver. She noticed both Americans staring at it, and said "The Secretary of State for Education, I believe. Horrid little man." Next to it was a small TV, currently showing some sort of bowling game played on grass, next to that a table with two kettles, a teapot, a large tin of coffee, and some mugs and cups. There were only three teachers in the room, all women in their fifties, all staring raptly at the TV. One of them was shouting "Come on my son, come on, smack the red ball" as a black ball rolled across the lawn. It bounced off a green ball, hit a white one, and shuddered to a halt inches from the red. "Blast! Here's your pound, Evadne." 

"Right," said the teacher sitting next to her, "I'll bet you another quid that Peters can't manage it either." 

"Ahem!" said Miss Fritton. "Ladies, I'd like you to meet our new teachers." 

All three women reluctantly turned away from the TV to stare at the newcomers. "From left to right," said Miss Fritton, "Evadne White, teaching French, German, and Geography," a bulky horse-faced grey-haired woman wearing a white cardigan and several strings of beads over a dress that went out of style in the eighties, "Dora McLeod, who teaches English, Drama, and History," a thin neurotic-looking blonde woman with a distinct twitch, wearing a floral print dress that clashed horribly with the upholstery, "and Roberta Sloane, dance and home economics," a mannish-looking brunette wearing a suit that reminded Willow of pictures of Marlene Dietrich, who unfortunately didn't have the figure the suit demanded. 

"And this is Willow Rosenberg," she gestured vaguely towards Buffy, "who'll be teaching Science and Information Technology and Buffy Summers," a gesture towards Willow, "who'll be teaching Sport and Physical Training." 

"Actually I'm Buffy," said Buffy. 

"Willow," said Willow. 

"What on earth have you two done to be condemned to this hell-hole so early in your careers?" asked Roberta, getting up and shaking hands with them. Willow felt her fingers brush her wrist in a delicate caress, and guessed that they might have more than teaching in common. 

"We had a little trouble getting signed up for a teacher training internship in the USA," said Buffy. 

"Why was that?" asked Dora, reaching over to shake hands. 

"We both went to the same high school, Sunnydale High, it had kinda a bad reputation." 

"How bad?" asked Evadne, offering a limp hand. 

"Highest student death rate of any school in the USA and it blew up and burned to the ground the day we graduated. Leaky gas main." 

"Oh dear," said Miss Fritton, "but even so, surely that's all in the past?" 

"Well, the whole town was destroyed a couple of years ago, some caves underneath it collapsed, took out the high school and the first college we went to, so most of our educational records were trashed. What was left was kinda one-sided, might have given some people the impression I was kinda a trouble-maker, and of course there was the time the cops.. never mind. Anyhow, Willow sort of got tarnished with guilt by association." 

"Oh well," said Miss Fritton brightly, "All water under the bridge now, I suppose." 

"And it sounds like you'll be quite at home here," said Evadne. 

"Why's that?" Willow asked nervously. 

"Somehow the public have the idea that our girls are also a little on the... ah... highly strung side." 

"Half of the little bitches should be in borstal," grumbled Dora, "but yes, I suppose you could call them highly strung." 

"Borstal?" asked Buffy. 

"I think you'd call it a reformatory. Children's prison." 

"Oh." 

"Where's everyone else?" asked Miss Fritton. 

"Bernice went into town to get some shopping," said Dora, "Lillian's trying to tune the pianos and Gwen's in the library, of course." 

"Is anyone actually looking after the children?" 

"Get real." 

"Perhaps we'd better continue on our tour," said Miss Fritton, "I don't actually hear anything breaking, but it's always a good idea to remind the children that we are about and paying a little attention." 

After they'd gone out Evadne said "Leaky gas main indeed. Trouble with the police. Let's hope she's not actually wanted for anything, like Mrs Fitch last year." 

"Don't be judgmental," said Dora, "after all, it wasn't that many years ago that you set fire to a few haystacks yourself." 

"Youthful high spirits, Dora. What do you think, Roberta?" 

"Mmm... the little blonde's gay, I think," she said languidly. "Not sure about the redhead but I doubt it." 

"Honestly dear, we're not all obsessed with sex. What did you think about their school blowing up?" 

"Did it? How traumatic for them." 

"Never mind... Looks like the adverts are ending, anyone want to make any bets?" 

* * * * *

"The gymnasium does need some work, I'm afraid," said Miss Fritton. "I think that it's fundamentally sound apart from the ceiling, but it would probably be wise to check everything thoroughly, I'm not sure Miss Ballard paid much attention to safety." 

Buffy looked gloomily at the floor, currently covered in chunks of plaster from the collapsed ceiling. "What exactly happened here?" 

"Miss Ballard seems to have taken the lead from the roof, as well as the trophies, and unfortunately quite a lot of water got in before we realised." 

"Okay. Can I get some help to clear it?" 

"I'm sure that the girls will be eager to help, if you put it to them the right way." 

"What about the roof? Is it going to let water in again?" 

"Temporary repairs have been made, it ought to hold out until the summer holidays." 

"Okaaay," Buffy said slowly, "I always liked a challenge." 

"Splendid!" 

* * * * *

"This is one heck of a powerful computer system," said Willow, looking approvingly at a room full of humming servers. "It seems kinda excessive for a school, what with the fibre internet connection and all. I'm a little surprised you can afford it." 

"It's actually owned by one of our parents, we provide... ah... off-site capacity for his business ventures, in return he pays for the school's system and its operating costs." She sounded a little embarrassed. 

"What kind of business is he in?" 

"Entertainment, I believe." 

"That's interesting," said Willow, typing a few instructions into the server. She watched as screen after screen of file names flashed by. 

"Holy crap," said Buffy, looking over her shoulder. 

"This... um... entertainment, it's kinda adult, isn't it? 

"I really couldn't say," said Miss Fritton. "I'm assured that it's legal, which is all that matters." 

"Let's hope so," said Willow, "and let's hope that none of the kids have figured out how to hack into it, or we're all gonna go to jail..." 

"We have another week until the children get back, I'm sure that you'll have ample time to deal with any problems." 

"I wish I was..." 

* * * * *

"Last but not least, the library," said Miss Fritton, leading them into a long room that smelled strongly of polish and old books. The smell reminded both of them of Sunnydale High, although the layout was different. "Gwen, are you about?" 

"Coming," said a distant voice. There was a faint whine, which gradually became louder, and a wheelchair rolled into view. Sitting in it was a woman in her forties, with a tartan blanket over her legs. She had white streaks in her hair and part of her face had the waxy sheen of skin that has at some time been badly burned. Her right arm was an obvious prosthesis, her left was operating the controls of the chair. Buffy and Willow both felt a shock of recognition as Miss Fritton said "And this is Gwendolyn Post, our librarian. Gwen, these are our new teachers, Buffy Summers and Willow Rosenberg." 

"I'm pleased to meet you," said Miss Post, without any sign of recognising their names. She held out her artificial hand, Buffy and Willow gingerly shook it. "I'm sorry, I probably come as a bit of a surprise. A few years ago I was apparently struck by lightning, and it left me as you see me." 

"Apparently?" said Willow nervously, wondering why the rogue former Watcher wasn't reacting to them. 

"Traumatic amnesia is the technical term. My last memories before the accident are of college. Apparently I spent several years working as a researcher for a legal consultancy, but I don't remember anything between college and the burns unit in Cambridge." 

"Oh," said Buffy. "That must be kinda awkward. Do you ever run into anyone you met in those years?" Willow kicked her ankle. 

"No. My employers were kind enough to find me this job, and I've stayed here ever since. Between my salary and various pensions I'm reasonably comfortable. It suits me very nicely, lets me continue my studies of Icelandic mythology." 

"That's nice." 

"Miss Fritton has told me what you'll both be teaching. Science and information technology are over in that aisle, sports is at the far end next to the suit of armour. I'm afraid the catalogue is still on file cards, not computers, but if there are any books you particularly need let me know, I'll try to find someone who will let us have them on credit." 

"That's great," said Willow, "I'll have a list for you in a couple of days." 

"If you have anything on the rules of the games that're played here that'd be nice," said Buffy, "I was kinda counting on working with someone who knew them, I'm mostly used to American sports." 

"Rules for cricket, rounders, hockey, lacrosse, and netball? I think we have all of them." 

"That's cool. I'll be back later, once I've cleared the gym." 

"Well, I think that more or less concludes our tour," said Miss Fritton, leading them out of the library. "I'll show you back to your rooms, I'd imagine you'll want to unpack and set to work. Afternoon tea is in the staff room at four-thirty, dinner is in the dining hall at eight. If you run into any problems I'll be in my office." 

* * * * *

"That was weird," said Buffy, once they were alone. "Traumatic amnesia?" 

"It's always possible but I doubt it. No, I guess Giles had her shipped off to England once she was out of life support, the wizards working for the Council must have used a tabula rasa spell to wipe her memory back to before she joined them. Didn't you notice the crystal pendant she was wearing?" 

"Crystal? It was black, I thought it was jet." 

"No, it's a crystal imprisoning her memories. So long as it isn't destroyed she won't remember a thing." 

"And they just gave it to her to carry?" 

"It has to be within a few miles or the effect starts to wear off, I suppose they thought that the best way to keep it close was to give it to her so she'd take care of it. It's lucky that it works that way, if they'd had it at the Watchers Council offices her memory would have come back when the place blew up. One thing's for sure, if her memory is restored the first thing she'll remember is how she lost her hand. If it was me I doubt I'd be too happy about that." 

"Is that likely if the pendant isn't broken?" asked Buffy 

"You remember the time I cast that spell and we all got amnesia? All of us were beginning to remember things when it wore off, if we'd gone a while longer I think it would have eventually fallen apart. There was stuff around to remind us of who we were. She's been isolated from her past until now, but it's possible that seeing us and talking to us might trigger memories. I don't think she was very powerful without the Glove of Myhnegon, but I could be wrong." 

"There's a cheery thought. Even without any power, she was a total psycho. Tried to kill Giles, tried to get Faith to kill Angel, with the glove she would probably have killed all of us. She may not have any power, but even in Britain it can't be that hard to get hold of weapons. What can we do about it?" 

"Keep contact to a minimum, avoid talking about Sunnydale, magic, slaying, that kinda thing, and keep our eyes open. I'll e-mail Giles, see if he knows anything about her." 

"Great. Here four hours and we've already got a big bad to worry about." 

"At least we know the worse." 

"I guess," Buffy said dubiously. "Wish I felt sure about that..." 

_**TBC**_


	4. III

This is a crossover between Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the St. Trinian's films and books inspired by the cartoons of Ronald Searle. Minor spoilers up to season 7 of Buffy. Set after Season 7 BtVS, after Season 4 Angel. Since there is no real St. Trinian's continuity a mixture of characters from the films, books, etc. has been used. For a good web reference to the St. Trinians stories see .

All characters belong to their respective creators / film companies / etc. and are used without permission, and without any intention of damaging their owners copyright. This story may only be distributed on a non-profit-making basis.

Work in Progress. If you like this story, check out my other stories on the Fanfiction Net, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fonts of Wisdom websites.

I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it.

**Deeds of Maidenly Unkindness**

_by Marcus L. Rowland_

III

"Okay," Willow said three days later, as she and Buffy ate a picnic lunch on the lawn in front of the school, "I've got the computers up to speed, got rid of the viruses and worms and a couple of dozen pieces of spyware, password grabbers, that sort of thing, and hexed every processor and disc drive in the school to make sure that things stay that way. Let's hope I can keep things like that when the rest of the kids get back on Monday. The lab is in better shape now they've fixed the roof. Miss Perkins didn't steal stuff, I think she just had an unhealthy interest in pyrotechnics. Not well equipped, but I can teach the basic sciences there."

"What did you do about the porn on the computers?" asked Buffy.

"Made sure that none of the pictures show kids from the school and all of them are over age, improved its security and improved the isolation from the rest of the network. As far as I can tell it's not actually illegal, just kinda an odd way for a school to fund its computer department."

"And you're happy being, what did you call it, 'web-mistress of pain?'"

"Hey, I'm getting fan mail from some of the hacker dweebs that are bouncing off the firewall, and income's gone up by nearly twenty percent since I took over and beefed up the security so that people couldn't hack in without paying. Miss Fritton's trying to get them to give a cut to the school."

"Nice work... I guess."

"How about you and the sports equipment?"

"It's a total mess. I've run inventory, looks like she sold everything that wasn't nailed down and the budget'll just about run to a few table tennis balls. And the playing fields are a jungle, needs to be mowed properly. I took out a few small trees and a lot of plants that I think might be pot, but it's too big a job for me, even with Slayer strength."

"Miss Fritton said we could use the girls as labour if needed."

"I've already got every girl I could catch clearing and decorating the gym, broke a few bricks to show them why it'd be a bad idea to play hooky, but it's gonna be two or three days before they're done and the rest of the kids are back in five. I need to get the fields cleared now."

"Ask Miss Fritton, maybe she can suggest something."

"That's not a bad idea. Okay, any word from Giles?"

"His e-mail says that he knew that they'd taken Post back to Britain, but doesn't know anything beyond that. It doesn't surprise him that they erased her memory, that was standard practice for Watchers that went bad, there may have also been someone keeping an eye on her."

"At the school?"

"It's possible, but he doesn't have any records of it. If they did the Bringers probably got her."

"If there is an ex-Watcher around still they'll probably work out who I am sooner or later and make contact, if not we can probably cope with someone in a wheelchair."

"That's what they said about Doctor Strangelove."

"Anything else from Giles?" asked Buffy.

"I doubt that there was anything you didn't hear from Dawn when you called her last night. Demons slayed, Xander's love life, Faith ditching Robin, that sort of thing."

"Dawn said it was Robin ditched Faith. And Xander's love life?"

"Guess it was kinda mutual, and yeah, Xander's dating again, didn't Dawn tell you?"

"She was too busy telling me about breaking up yet another boyfriend," said Buffy, absent-mindedly slicing a hovering fly in two with the bread knife, "hope Giles has stocked up on ice cream, she's gonna need comfort food. I keep telling her that rescuing guys from demons isn't a good start to a stable relationship. So who's Xander's new girl?"

Something glowed at the tips of Willow's fingers, and the remnants of the fly vanished, leaving the knife sparkling clean. "You remember Angel telling us about Doyle, the guy that used to work for him? It's his second cousin."

"Met him once. She'd be.. what, half demon?"

"Quarter, her dad was a half-demon. Anyway, Xander knows it up front and they're Bracken demons, so nothing worse to worry about than her drinking Xander under the table."

"How did they meet?"

"She's that tall dark-haired Irish girl Xander tried to monopolize at Wolfram and Hart's Christmas party, when we went along to slay the Santa demon."

"If she works for Wolfram and Hart..." Buffy began.

"It's okay, she was one of the caterers."

"Maybe she can give us the recipe for that avocado dip."

"Mmmm. That'd be good."

"Mmmm.. uh, do you smell something burning?"

"Yeah... Buffy, I think that's smoke coming from the gym window."

* * *

"It's not often that we have a fire before term even begins," said Miss Fritton, "but I suppose leaving a blowtorch anywhere near Morag Payne was asking for trouble. I should have warned you about her. One of our more ah.. reckless little pyromaniacs."

"Will she be okay?" asked Buffy.

"The doctors say that skin grafts probably won't be needed, they think that the speed with which you got her out of the gym and into the swimming pool probably kept it from being much worse. And well done to both of you on getting the fire out so fast."

"It was no biggy," said Willow, "we kinda got a lot of experience handling emergencies in Sunnydale."

"Mmm... Since the fire hoses in the gym seem to have been sold for the copper in their fittings, I'd be interested to hear how you got that much water there that quickly."

"Just ran really fast," said Willow, "got the kids to form a bucket chain, I think they kinda enjoyed it."

"And you took the lead in extinguishing it, I understand."

"That's right, Buffy was busy with Morag, couldn't let the kids go into the gym so I did it myself." She carefully didn't mention the small water spirit she'd summoned to help.

"That was very brave of you, miss um... Rosencratz, but you mustn't endanger yourself unnecessarily. The building was well-insured against fire. Not, unfortunately, against water damage."

"I've made things worse?" Willow asked guiltily.

"Fortunately extinguishing a fire is the exception to that rule, and with a little creative help from my dear friend the insurance agent we may actually raise enough to get the roof repaired."

"Do you really think he'll be that helpful?"

"He'd better, I've still got the negatives." She laughed gaily and said "Just a little joke, of course." Neither was sure they believed her.

"We'd better get back to work," said Buffy, "there's still a lot of clearing to do."

"I'm afraid that you'll both have to make a small detour to the hospital first."

"Why's that?" Willow asked nervously.

"Apparently Morag's doctor believes that she's been exposed to Weil's disease, it's apparently found in water that's been fouled by rats. It's possible that Miss Ballard neglected to have the pool chlorinated. She wants to test you and the girls for infection  
and give you a course of tablets to take."

"Euugh," said Buffy. "I think I swallowed some. Before we go, is there any way that I can get the playing fields mowed in a hurry?"

"Why didn't you ask earlier? I'll get Harry onto it right away, I'm sure he can find a way to get it done."

"Harry?"

"Haven't you met Harry yet?"

"I don't think we've met any guys since we started here."

"Then you have a treat in store. Now run along to the cottage hospital, Evadne can give you a lift. I'll give Harry a call."

"They'll be at least an hour at the hospital," said Agnes Spink, a fourth-former who had managed to evade gym-cleaning and fire-fighting, switching off a radio tuned to a buggging transmitter planted in Miss Fritton's room, "it was a stroke of genius giving Mad Morag those matches, though I say it myself."

"Let's get on with it then," said Cathy Spiggot, her partner in crime, "because she's shut off every one of my back doors into the system. If we can't get at the actual server there's no way we'll blag the credit card details your dad wants."

They crept downstairs carrying a sleek laptop and a cradle for an external drive, carefully evaded the remaining teachers and made their way to the computer laboratory, where Agnes got out a set of skeleton keys and made short work of the locks to the lab and the server room. "This is it," said Cathy, looking at the servers. "I'll pull one of the drives from the RAID array, hook it up to my laptop, and find the password files. Hello, what's this...?"

The RAID array was a typical big server, with a dozen drives in drawer-like removable carriers, sharing the data to prevent corruption. Cathy knew that it should be possible to pull one out without the system crashing. Agnes looked at the drive and saw a small sticker on the front of each drive. "'Data Protected', what the hell does that mean?"

"Damned if I know. Probably means they've added some encryption, won't help them if I can get in as root." Cathy twisted the thumb wheel that held the carrier in and began to pull it out. As she did so there was a sharp crack and she leapt back, sucking her fingers.

"Are you all right?" asked Agnes.

"Got a shock. Must be an electrical fault, or static."

"We should be wearing gloves anyway, don't want to leave fingerprints on the drive."

"Good point." They both pulled on latex gloves stolen from the school nurse's room, then Cathy went back to the drive and pulled it open again. As she reached into the carrier to remove the drive the one above suddenly popped out, hitting her hand and knocking it away from the bay, then both slammed shut.

"What the hell?" said Cathy, and tried another bay. This time it came open easily; there was a loud pop, and the server room filled with choking green smoke. Agnes stumbled to the door and propped it open, while both girls coughed and waited for the  
smoke to clear. When they could see again the carrier was closed.

"It must be some sort of anti-tampering system," said Agnes.

"One more try," said Cathy, "then we'd better go, we're running out of time." She pulled another carrier out and lifted out the drive, holding her breath. Nothing happened. "Yeah!" She carried the drive to the laptop and put it into the disc cradle, and set to work looking for the password. "Here's something... You need a password to access the password file?"

"Try all the usual things," urged Agnes, "it might just be something obvious like 'installer' or 'password.'"

"Pigs might fly. If they've got this much security... bloody hell, 'Password' it is."

"Can you read off the passwords?"

"It's taking a long time to open."

The screen turned bright red with a message in tiny type neatly centred half-way down the screen. "Can you read that?" asked Cathy, wiping her glasses.

"This computer will self-destruct in 10 seconds, then there's a countdown. Three... two... one..." The screen went black and all of the laptop's lights went out. "What the hell do we do now?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm going to put the drive back into the server and get the hell out of here, and hope that I can figure out what she did."

"She?"

"The new IT teacher. She was playing with us."

"Right," said Agnes, "This means war."

* * *

"Okay," said Buffy, staring out at the seething white mass occupying the playing fields, "can't say I was expecting that."

"They're only sheep, Buffy," said Willow, "I guess they'll get rid of most of the grass for you."

"That's right," said a man's voice behind them, "and the school gets paid for pasturage, and we can rake the fields off afterwards and sell what's left for fertiliser."

"You must be Harry" said Willow, turning to look at the stranger.

"That's right, most people call me Flash 'Arry though."

"Flash?" asked Buffy, trying to keep a straight face.

"Flash. 'Cos of me lightning speed and good looks."

"Riiiight." Both women stared at the stranger, who wore a tight brown suit with exaggerated padded shoulders and had greasily shiny black hair. Buffy looked around, saw that the sun was still above the horizon and relaxed, reasonably sure that despite the old-fashioned look he wasn't a vampire.

"Actu'lly hi'm the fourth member of me family by that name. H'its in the nature of being a family title."

"Really, though, why Flash?" asked Willow.

"'Cos of the flash clothes we wear, you don't get shmutter like this cheap."

"Miss Fritton didn't explain what you do, exactly."

"Wotever needs doing, 'course. You know, borrow a few 'undred sheep like this, or get hold of stuff cheap like."

"Is that why all the towels have 'Butlins Holiday Camps' embroidered on the edge?" asked Buffy.

"Shtum," said Harry, touching his nose, "them is high quality surplus towels, very nearly kosher. Nearly."

"How can you have a kosher towel?" asked Willow. "I mean, they don't really make cloth out of pigs anyway, so..."

"I don't think Flash is actually Jewish, Willow, so maybe he doesn't mean it that way."

"Oh.. right, stupid of me."

"Sorry if h'Ive caused any hoffence, it's what we in the trade calls an expression of quality, there's like kosher stuff which is like legit, and there's not so kosher stuff that is not so legit. You see what I mean."

"Got it."

"So what else do you get, Flash?" asked Buffy.

"Well, like services. You wants something delivered cheap and quiet, or a bet placing at the best odds, or something that might have like avoided customs, I'm your man."

"Great, you're a smuggler and a racketeer."

"Got it in one."

"Better not let me catch you smuggling anything to the girls or there'll be serious trouble."

"Yeah?"

Buffy picked up a large stone, showed it to him, then crushed it in her hand and dropped the grit into his palm. "Yeah."

"Point taken... I'd better get that shepherd to move these sheep a bit, I think they've finished this part. Nice talking to you, ladies, and if there's anything you want..."

"Funny you should mention that," said Buffy, "somewhere around here there must be a load of very non-kosher sports equipment. See if you can track it down for me and maybe, just maybe, I'll forget about mentioning this to the customs people."

Harry looked at her, started to say something, and backed away hurriedly.

"Don't you think you were being a little hard on him, Buffy?" asked Willow.

"Nope. If he didn't help fence the lead and the sports stuff I'm Donald Duck."

"And since your lips are still kinda um.. lips and you're not sprouting feathers I think we can say that you're not."

"Think he'll find it for us?"

"Oh yeah, I think you put the fear of Buffy into him. If it's findable he'll find it."

"He'd better. We've got three days to get this mess fixed, and if it isn't I think I know who's gonna suffer for it."

_**TBC**_


	5. IV

This is a crossover between Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the St. Trinian's films and books inspired by the cartoons of Ronald Searle. Minor spoilers up to season 7 of Buffy. Set after Season 7 BtVS, after Season 4 Angel. Since there is no real St. Trinian's continuity a mixture of characters from the films, books, etc. has been used. For a good web reference to the St. Trinians stories see users.netmatters.co.uk/ju90/ron.htm 

All characters belong to their respective creators / film companies / etc. and are used without permission, and without any intention of damaging their owners copyright. This story may only be distributed on a non-profit-making basis. 

Work in Progress. If you like this story, check out my other stories on the Fanfiction Net, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fonts of Wisdom websites. 

I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it. 

* * *

**Deeds of Maidenly Unkindness**

_by Marcus L. Rowland_

IV

"Are you quite sure?" asked Old Harry, sitting up in bed and staring at his grandson. 

Flash Harry looked at the grey-bearded old man, shrugged his shoulders, and said "Sure as I can be. She crushed a bit of granite like it was nothing, an' I've seen her lift a sack of rubble that must have weighed a hundredweight or more when she thought no-one was looking." 

"So... It was definitely daylight?" 

"Yes, an' she wears a cross," Flash said patiently. "She isn't a vampire, grandad. Probably not a demon neither. What else is there?" 

"For years nothing, then a Slayer comes to Saint Trinian's. A bloody Slayer. You know what this means, of course." 

"I do, grandad." 

"Fetch me my stick and my dressing gown, an' get your father from the pub. This time there's going to be a reckoning. A full reckoning. This time they're going to pay. Pay with interest." He slammed his fist on the bedsite table for emphasis. 

* * * * *

"What's all this?" asked Buffy, staring at the pallets of plastic-wrapped gymnasium equipment that a small fork-lift was unloading from a huge truck. 

"What you wanted," said Flash Harry. 

"This isn't the stuff that went missing, is it? It looks too new." 

"It is new, innit. New-ish, anyhow, comes out of a sports club that went broke. Couldn't track the old stuff down, could I, so I talked to some friends wot are in the import-export business and owes me a favour and they found me this lot." 

"How?" asked Willow. 

"Well, they send regular shipments out to places like Africa, an' there 'as to be a label saying there's something kosher inside the container for the customs there. So this time the container is supposed to be full of sports stuff. Usually they dump the legit stuff, or sell it cheap to get rid of it, this time they gave it to the school, they're going to write it off as a tax loss." 

"And what's really inside their containers?" asked Buffy, "Guns? Drugs?" 

"Don't be daft." 

"What then?" 

"Slot machines, I hexpect. One-armed bandits, that sort of thing. 'An maybe a few crates of Scotch. It's a Moslem country, they don't like gambling or booze." 

"Oh..." 

"'Course I can send this stuff back if you don't want it." 

"Umm... No, don't do that. I suppose if it isn't guns..." 

"I can find out easily enough," said Willow, looking at the delivery documents. "There's bound to be something I can trace." 

"I did find out what happened to the old stuff," said Harry, "That Miss Ballard sold it all to Joey Bonnington, 'im wot bought the lead off the roof 'an the rest of the stuff from the gym. 'E couldn't shift it, burned it to melt down the lead. Wicked wastefulness, I call it." 

"How did they get it off the roof without anyone noticing?" Buffy asked skeptically. 

"Without anyone noticing? Ballard bunged the fourth year a crate of gin for their Christmas party, they made so much bloody noise that you could have stolen the whole bloody building without anyone noticing. Then the kids went off for their holidays 'an nobody the wiser until it snowed in January and the ceiling fell down. By then Ballard was long gone, 'an Joey was nabbed by the filth for 'andling the silver that wos nicked from the Abbey last year." 

"So you weren't involved?" 

"Me? 'Urt the school? Wot do you take me for? Four generations of my family 'as 'elped 'ere, and not one of them never did nothing to 'arm the place. I feel properly insulted now." He whistled shrilly, then shouted "George, start loading the stuff back on the lorry, it 'aint welcome 'ere." The fork lift backed towards the truck. 

"I'm sorry," Buffy said hastily, "I didn't mean it that way. It's just that we want things to go right here, and with your connections we kinda thought..." 

"Well, that kind of thoughts is very wounding to a man of my 'onesty. Very wounding. But I see you was thinking of the good of the school. George, keep unloading, I was wrong." 

"Make yer bloody mind up," said George, stopping the fork-lift. 

"Keep unloading mate, it was a misunderstanding." 

"You sure?" 

"Am I?" asked Harry. 

"Oh yeah," said Buffy, "we totally believe you." 

"Totally," confirmed Willow. 

"Good," said Harry, "It's okay George, unload it." 

"Thanks," said Buffy, "it really means a lot to me." 

"Really?" said Harry. "Then maybe you two ladies could do me a small favour..." 

* * * * *

Over the weekend Buffy finished setting up the gym and Willow finished her preparations in the computer room and the laboratory. On Saturday they went to the village to get some shopping, and were surprised to see that most of the villagers were boarding up their front windows and repairing fences. 

"Maybe they're expecting a storm," said Willow. 

"In Britain?" asked Buffy. "Didn't think they had tornadoes or anything like that here." She noticed a workman outside one of the shops and went across to him, spoke for a moment, then went back to Willow, looking bemused. 

"Well?" 

"It's to stop the girls smashing up the village when they arrive on Monday." 

"You're kidding." 

"Nope. Last term they broke eighteen windows. Are you sure the school isn't on a Hellmouth?" 

"No Hellmouthy vibes," said Willow, "and I think we would have noticed by now if there were." 

* * * * *

On Monday the rest of the teachers and the girls returned and the relative peace of the holiday disappeared. The first arrival was a trio of battered buses, each crammed with shrieking children wearing black school uniforms waving hockey sticks, tennis racquets and at least one pitchfork out of the window. The teachers waiting to greet them on the drive were suddenly hit by a wall of noise and the pungent smell of too many children and too little deodorant. 

"These are mostly the lower-school children," Miss Fritton shouted over the din, "the older girls are generally brought by their parents later in the day." 

"Why's that?" asked Willow. "Do they have a lot more luggage?" 

"No, it's to make sure that they really come here rather than running off with their boyfriends or taking jobs as barmaids." 

"Oh. Right," said Buffy, intercepting one of the girls, taking her spiked brass knuckles, and throwing them into a box that already held four catapults, a half-dozen knives and a machete, two bottles of vodka and several cartons of cigarettes. 

"You have a good eye for this," said Miss Fritton as Buffy took a baseball bat with three spikes from another girl's backpack. 

"Got a lot of practice as a student counsellor in Sunnydale. People carrying weapons walk differently, behave differently. Should I be handing out demerits?" 

"Not yet. We always expect to confiscate a certain amount of weaponry at the beginning of the term, the girls seem to find the oddest things during the holidays and bring them back to amuse their friends. Why, it can't have been more than three years ago that Potts Minor tried to bring in a missile launcher." 

"A missile launcher?" 

"A small one, I think it was called a stinger, or something of the sort." 

"That girl over there with the heavy valise," said Willow. "She's got something inside it." 

Evadne White was already moving to intercept her, and stood patiently as the girl tried to defy her then opened the case to reveal a can of deiseal fuel and a small bag of fertiliser. 

"Okay," said Willow, "Fuel and an oxidiser. Check her for anything that could be used as an igniter." 

"Don't worry," said Miss Fritton, "We know Drusilla of old, another of our budding pyromaniacs." 

"Drusilla?" asked Willow. The girl was dark and did look vaguely like... no, it had to be a coincidence. 

"Drusilla Padgett. Named for one of her ancestors, a novice nun who disappeared after all of her immediate family were murdered. It's one of the famous unsolved mysteries of the nineteenth century." 

"Wow. Do you think it has anything to do with the pyromania?" 

"No, she just likes watching things burn." 

"Oh." 

"How did you spot her?" 

"Just a feeling. I guess I picked up on her body language like Buffy said." 

"Well done. Oh Miss Summers, the blonde girl with the pigtails please. Bring her here." 

One of the girls approaching the entrance, aged about thirteen, slowed as she got near to the waiting teachers then hung back until she was in a crowd of her classmates. Buffy gently took her by the shoulder and steered her to Miss Fritton. "Well, Abigail?" asked Miss Fritton. 

"What, Miss Fritton?" 

"What is it this time?" 

"Me, Miss Fritton?" 

"Yes you, Abigail. Do I have to open your bag?" 

""No, Miss Fritton." Abigail sighed and unzipped the canvas cover. "Yikes," said Willow, stepping back hastily as an angry boa-constrictor surged out. Buffy watched it for a second then darted out a hand to grab it behind the head. 

"Can you manage, Miss Summers?" asked Miss Fritton. 

"Sure," said Buffy, as the snake wrapped a coil around her. "I think it's just trying to be friendly. Got somewhere for me to put it?" 

Miss Fritton put two fingers into her mouth and blew a piercing whistle. Flash Harry appeared from around the side of the building and approached warily. 

"Harry, perhaps you can find a home for this creature?" 

"There's some sacks and an empty cupboard in the boiler room, we'll shove it in a sack and leave it there while I phone the pet shop an' arrange to ship it back to her dad. Ought to be warm enough." 

By now the snake had three coils around Buffy and was doing its best to crush her. "Are you sure you're all right in there?" asked Willow. 

"I'm fine, it's kinda like a massage," said Buffy, following Harry down to the boiler room. 

"Now then, Abigail," said Miss Fritton, "What have we told you about bringing pets to school?" 

"Nothing bigger or more dangerous than an 'ampster, Miss Fritton." 

"And the snake?" 

"Well he eats 'ampsters, Miss Fritton, I thought it'd be okay." She started to cry. 

"Fifty lines, Abigail, 'I will not bring dangerous animals into school.' And before you ask, Abigail, that includes the lion cub last term, and the tarantula and scorpions last year." 

"Maybe you could try fish... harmless fish... instead," said Willow. "There's an aquarium in the laboratory, would you like to be in charge of that?" 

"What's in it?" asked Abigail. 

"Nothing right now," said Willow, "it's about four feet long and eighteen inches wide and high, and it has a heater, lights, and filters. Work out what we can keep in there and give me a list of what you'll need, and if it isn't dangerous we'll see what we can do." 

"Okay," said Abigail, brightening up. 

"But no piranha or electric eels," Willow said hastily. 

"Oh." Abigail sadly went inside. The last stragglers from the coaches were inside the school by the time Buffy came back, minus the snake. 

"Well done everyone," said Miss Fritton. "Miss Summers, Miss Rosenberg, I'd like you to check the buses, make sure that the girls haven't left anything behind.. money, luggage, time bombs, bodies, that sort of thing. Everyone else, let's get the children unpacked and check for contraband again before the upper school gets here." 

"Time bombs?" said Buffy, as she and Willow climbed aboard the first coach. _"Bodies?"_

"She was joking... I think." 

"Let's hope so. After the snake I'll believe almost anything." 

* * * * *

Agnes Spink and Cathy Spiggot tried to look innocent as they dodged through the noisy corridors towards the computer lab. Cathy kept look-out while Agnes picked the lock again, then locked it once they were inside. "How long have we got?" asked Agnes. 

"About two hours before the last stragglers get here. There's an assembly at four followed by tea, we'll have to be there I suppose, but that gives us bags of time." 

"Okay, so what's the plan?" 

"I can't crack her security through the network and I'm not going near that server again so we'll have to cheat. I'll bug the office and her phone and put a key stroke recorder in her keyboard. You search the place and see if you can find anything that looks like a list of passwords, or anything that we can use for blackmail. Make sure that you don't make a mess, I don't want her to know that we've been here." 

"Right." They worked in silence for a few minutes, then Agnes said "Here's an old book. Really old. Looks like Latin, I wonder why she'd have it in here." 

"Maybe it's her encryption key. Can you photocopy it?" 

"Yes... damn, no, there's no paper." 

"Bung it on the scanner, we can save it onto a CD and read it on my laptop." 

"Okay.... Oh bugger." 

"What's up?" 

"The ink must be light sensitive or something. As soon as I scan a page the writing disappears." 

"You're kidding." 

"See for yourself." 

Cathy looked at the book and saw that the first half-dozen pages were blank. She thought that she could see a faint ghost of the letters on the page, areas that were paler than the old stained paper, but it was hard to be sure. She put the next page of text onto the scanner and waited for it to cycle, then took another look at the page. It was now as blank as its predecessors. "That's bloody odd. Finish scanning the chapter, then put the book back where you found it. With luck it'll be days before she notices, by then we might be able to break into the system." 

"Let's hope so" said Agnes, scanning the next page. "Why the hell would she have disappearing ink?" 

"Maybe she's a spy or something?" 

"Get real." 

"Well _I_ don't know. I'm just about finished here, how about you." 

"That's the last page." 

"Burn it to CD-R and I'll wipe everything, I think I can get into the logs without triggering her alarms. We can take a proper look at it when we get back to the dorm." 

* * * * *

Buffy and Willow finished searching the buses and dropped two knives, a throwing star, another knuckle-duster and a spiked stick into the box as the first of a long line of cars arrived, each bearing a more or less reluctant student. The heap of contraband slowly grew. Last to arrive were the sixth form. About half seemed to have a boyfriend or two in tow. "Remember," said Miss Fritton, "with the sixth form we're only interested in weapons, explosives, and hard drugs. It's legal for them to smoke although we don't encourage it, and some of them can legally drink. I can't actually tell you to ignore pornography, cannabis, and alcohol, but most of them will be carrying at least one of the three and those that don't can easily get hold of it. If we're too strict they'll bring in more, and may not be too careful about keeping it away from the younger children." 

"How's it going?" Buffy asked half an hour later. 

"Enough pot to keep Bob Marley happy for life," said Willow, "eight copies of _The Story of O_ and four of _Venus in Furs_, plenty of booze and cigarettes and a musical.. um.. sex aid." 

"About the same here," said Buffy, "plus some ecstasy and another machete." 

"What did you do about it," asked Miss Fritton, overhearing. 

"Confiscated the E's and the machete, left the rest alone." 

"Well done. I think that's about the last of them now, if you two could help me take these boxes to my office..." 

"Sure, no problem. What are you going to do with everything?" 

"Flush the drugs and add the spirits and cigarettes to our reserve for entertaining guests. Harry can dispose of the.. um... hardware." 

"I could look after the weapons if you like," said Buffy, "kinda a hobby of mine, might be something I don't have in my collection back home. I think one of the machetes might be second world war US Marine issue, and the throwing star looks like early Thai." 

"How splendid. Of course, help yourself." She held her office door open for Buffy and Willow. 

"Miss Fritton," said Willow, "Flash Harry kinda talked us into going round to his cottage tomorrow night and helping his grandad with his computer. He wants us to stay for supper, I guess we should take some sort of gift. What would you suggest?" 

"Gin, my dear," said Miss Fritton. "Harry thrives on it, so does his father and grandfather. And his great-grandfather was so soaked in it that it's a wonder his body didn't spontaneously combust." 

"Where can we buy some?" 

"Buy? Take one of the bottles we confiscated, of course." She examined them, selected one, and said "This one; it hasn't been opened and it's expensive enough that even Harry will have heard of it but not so good that he'll think it's effete." 

"Oh. Okay, thanks." 

"Better get along and get ready, assembly's in fifteen minutes. I've got some notices to read and I'll have to introduce you to the girls." 

"Right." 

* * * * *

"What do you make of it?" asked Agnes, watching Cathy working at her laptop. 

"Well, we've got good images of the text, I'll just run it through the OCR program then see if I can get a translation. Wish there was an internet connection up here." 

"Get the text onto a floppy and you can run it through Babelfish or something when we have our next IT lesson." 

In the distance a bell rang. Cathy finished saving the file and said "Assembly. Better go, bloody Fritton will notice if we cut it." 

She saved the file, exited the program, but left the laptop on as they hurried out. 

After a few minutes an MS Messenger box opened on screen and said "Hi, I'm Malcolm." After a long pause it added "Is anyone there?" 

**_TBC_**

Note: The cartoon used in this chapter is a detail from one of the original St. Trinian's cartoons by Ronald Searle. 


	6. V

This is a crossover between Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the St. Trinian's films and books inspired by the cartoons of Ronald Searle. Minor spoilers up to season 7 of Buffy. Set after Season 7 BtVS, after Season 4 Angel. Since there is no real St. Trinian's continuity a mixture of characters from the films, books, etc. has been used. For a good web reference to the St. Trinians stories see users.netmatters.co.uk/ju90/ron.htm 

All characters belong to their respective creators / film companies / etc. and are used without permission, and without any intention of damaging their owners copyright. This story may only be distributed on a non-profit-making basis. 

Work in Progress. If you like this story, check out my other stories on the Fanfiction Net, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fonts of Wisdom websites. 

I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it. 

* * *

**Deeds of Maidenly Unkindness**

_by Marcus L. Rowland_

V

"Why the hell didn't anyone warn us?" Buffy whispered, hiding her face behind a hymn book. 

"I think she just assumed we knew it'd be happening," Willow replied, "Don't you remember _The Meaning of Life?_ Just keep cool and pretend you're briefing a bunch of potentials." The badly-sung hymn came to an end, and Miss Fritton returned to the podium and gazed out over the school hall, waited a moment, then said "And now Miss Summers will read the sermon on the subject of Proverbs 1:8 - Hear, my son, your father's instruction, And do not forsake your mother's teaching." 

Buffy took her place, looked at the sermon, shrugged, closed the book, looked at the assembled students, and said "I'm supposed to be reading you a sermon telling you that it's a good idea to learn, and that bad things will happen to you if you don't. Let's face it, I've pretty much got to have that opinion or I wouldn't be standing here. Most of the reasons people have for becoming teachers boil down to education being a good idea. Now, some of you may disagree, or think that money or influence is more useful than brains. Maybe so, but I'm here to tell you that what you learn in school can make a big difference." 

"I'll give you a simple example. About eight years ago I drowned, and the only reason I'm here today is that one of my friends had learned CPR. If he hadn't gone to class that day I'd be dead. Now I can't promise that everything you learn will be as useful, but if you don't learn there's no way that you'll ever know. You can try being ignorant, and trust your parents or money to give you the good life, but that doesn't always work. There are nasty things out there waiting for the stupid and the slow, and your best defense is to be stronger, faster and smarter, which takes a little work. Think about it, and try to make the right decision." Buffy stepped down from the podium, and Miss Fritton took her place. 

"Thank you, Miss Summers. And finally, Miss Rosenberg will say a grace from her own religion." 

Willow moved to the podium, coughed nervously, and rapidly said "Thank you Goddess for a fresh beginning. We are forever grateful for your blessings in our lives. So mote it be." There was a surprised murmur from the girls, and they stared at her with a lot more interest. 

"Ah.. Thank you, Miss Rosenberg. We'll finish with the school song. Miss Benson..." A teacher Buffy hadn't met moved to an overhead projector and put on a new transparency. It was upside down. She turned it over, and got the text the right way up but mirrored. A final flip and the words were finally legible. The music teacher began to play the tune on a battered piano, while Miss Fritton used a long wooden pointer to keep track of the words: 

_Maidens of St Trinian's  
Gird your armour on.  
Grab the nearest weapon  
Never mind which one!  
The battle's to the strongest  
Might is always right,  
Trample on the weakest  
Glory in their plight!  
St Trinian's! St Trinian's!  
Our battle cry.  
St Trinian's! St Trinian's!  
Will never die!_

_Stride towards your fortune  
Boldly on your way.  
Never once forgetting  
There's one born every day.  
Let our motto be broadcast  
"Get your blow in first,"  
She who draws the sword last  
Always comes off worst.  
(Shout) St Trinian's! St Trinian's! etc_

The children sang lustily, shouting out the final chorus and stamping their feet until the hall shook. Miss Fritton moved to the podium for the last time and gestured for silence. "Tea will be in thirty minutes girls, supper is at nine, lights out at eleven. Welcome back, and I'm sure we'll all have a wonderful term." 

Someone blew a loud rasberry and the children rapidly disappeared through the exits. "Well, that was a little.. um.. unexpected," Miss Fritton said to Willow, "I rather thought you were Jewish." 

"Uh... I kinda got into Wicca in college, seems to work better for me. Hope you don't mind." 

"Oh, it's perfectly all right, but you need to watch out. Some of the children may think that you cast spells, dance around naked, and ride a broomstick." 

Willow smiled self-consciously and said "That's kinda an old stereotype. Who'd want to ride a broomstick anyway? It'd be way too uncomfortable. Harry Potter has a lot to answer for." 

Buffy wondered if Miss Fritton would notice that Willow had said nothing about casting spells and hastily said "I hope what I said was okay. I took a look at the sermon you gave me, but I'm no good with that kinda flowery language so I made it up." 

"Admirably short and to the point." 

"If we'd had a little more warning..." 

"I'm sorry, I'd quite forgotten that American schools do things differently. Don't worry, simple and forceful was exactly right. The children know sincerity when they hear it, and you were obviously sincere." 

"Let's hope the kids take it to heart." 

"Indeed. Now, I'm sure that we all have things to do..." 

* * * * *

"That was a weird prayer," said Agnes Spink, as she and Cathy Spiggot walked back to their dormitory, "didn't sound very Jewish to me." 

Cathy Spiggot shrugged. "Wicca, I suppose." They reached Cathy's bed, and she opened her laptop, saying "Let's have a look, see if the OCR has finished running. That's odd..." 

"What's odd?" 

"Did they put a WiFi network into the school without telling anyone? I've got a couple of messages from someone called Malcolm." She clicked on one of the screen icons and called up the WiFi menus. "Nope, it isn't picking up a signal." 

"Who's Malcolm?" 

"Christ knows. Must be a bug or something. Maybe it's picking up someone else's laptop." She clicked to close the pop-up boxes. A second later another appeared, with a message saying _"Hello Cathy. We need to talk."_

"What the hell..?" 

_"I'm Malcolm,"_ said the laptop's screen, _"and we need to talk..."_

* * * * *

"Well, I guess the food could be worst," Buffy said to Willow as they talked in Willow's room that evening. 

"Yeah, it's better than Sunnydale High. Not that that's saying much." 

"That dessert was kinda dense." 

"Kinda like eating cookie dough without the cookie goodness. What did they call it?" 

"Spotted Dick," said Buffy, trying not to giggle. 

"You're kidding," said Willow. 

"Nope. I looked it up in the dictionary. Dough with raisins and sugar, steamed and covered in hot custard." 

"Oh... I guess it did kinda taste that way. Thought I was eating glue." 

"Nope. Dick." Buffy sat down on Willow's bed, giggling helplessly. 

"Gay now, remember?" 

Buffy finished giggling and said "If all the food's like that I'm gonna have to watch my weight." 

"Buffy, you've got the whole Slayer metabolism thing going for you, you could eat ten times as much without putting on an ounce. It's me that's gonna have to be careful." 

"Okay, I guess there has to be an occasional up side to the whole 'chosen one' thing." She mimed the quotes. "Anyway, what do you think of the place now that the kids and the rest of the teachers are back?" 

"About the same as before, only noisier." 

"No evil vibes?" 

"Not really, just normal teenage angst, same vibes you get at any school, only worse because it's all girls. The same kinda feeling I got when we had a house full of potentials, only not quite so much fear." 

"Did you hear anything more from Giles about Post?" asked Buffy. 

"He's still working on it, trying to find out if any of the surviving Watchers knew anything. I don't think there's too much to worry about, we've seen her at least two or three times a day and she doesn't show any sign of remembering anything about us." 

"Or she's a good actress. First time round she fooled all of us, including Giles and Faith. Good thing Faith's still in the States, with the whole Robin mess and all I really don't want her involved." 

"Didn't I tell you? Dawn says they're back together again," said Willow. "Robin went back to Faith's apartment to pick up his clothes, they started arguing and ended up in bed. Must be four or five times they've done that now." 

"What are they doing telling Dawn about stuff like that?" 

"Dawn's eighteen, Buffy, she'd be graduating in a few weeks if she wasn't being held back for a semester to catch up on all the time she missed in Sunnydale." 

"I guess. Damn, it feels like just a few months ago I took her for her first day at Sunnydale High." 

"What time is it?" asked Willow. 

"Nearly eleven." 

"We'd better start thinking about bed, we've both got classes first thing." 

"Right, and I want to slip out later on and check the cemetary again, make sure nothing's coming to visit now the kids are back. Arm wrestle for the first shower?" 

"Sure, like I want to start my teaching career with a dislocated shoulder. Go ahead, it's yours." 

Buffy grinned, unashamed. "Okay, I'll knock on your door when I'm done. See you in the morning." 

* * * * *

Buffy chased the stocky grey figure across the cemetary, eventually tackling it by one of the larger tombs and throwing it against a tree. The sack it was carrying landed on a grave. It stood there, panting, and in a tiny voice said "Please don't hit me!" 

"Why not?" she shone a torch on it, taking in small horns and pointed ears. "What are you anyway?" 

"If you don't know why are you hitting me?" Buffy had to admit it was a reasonable question. 

"Okay," said Buffy, "You're some kinda demon, right? Any reason why I shouldn't be slaying you?" 

"Err... because I'm not evil?" 

"Good reason. Prove it. What've you got in the sack? Body parts?" 

"Spuds, if you must know." 

Buffy cautiously prodded the sack. A large potato rolled out. 

"You steal them?" 

"You going to hurt me if I say yes?" 

"Depends." 

"It's possible that they might be um... borrowed," he said evasively. 

"Whad'ya planning to do with them? Poison them or something?" 

The demon looked at her, blinked, and said "Why would anyone poison potatoes?" 

"To get at the people who eat them, maybe." 

"Oh. No, I just want to use them." 

"What for? Brewing some icky poison?" 

"Potheen, actually." 

"What?" 

"Potheen." Buffy belatedly realised he had a slight Irish accent. "I'm a cluricaun." 

"A what?" 

"A cluricaun. We're like leprechauns only we don't get on so well with people. My family came over from the old country during the Troubles, settled here where we thought it'd be quieter." 

"Okaaay. So... you planning on killing anyone, bringing the world to an end, that sort of thing?" 

"No, I just want to lay in supplies before those bloody girls come back from their holidays." 

"Bloody girls?" 

"St. Trinians, of course. Didn't you know, the school's just half a mile away." 

"I know, I work there. And the kids are already back." 

"Bugger, must have got the day wrong... Oh well, nice talking to you, but I really must be getting along." 

"Wait a second," said Buffy, prodding it with her stake. "Are you more scared of the kids than a Slayer?" 

"Is that what you are? Oh..." Buffy realised that he was trembling with fear, and drew the stake back a few inches. 

"You gonna answer the question?" 

"If you must know, they terrify me. Hundreds of the little sods rampaging around the contryside, and most of them'll take one look at us, think we've got a pot of gold or something, and grab us. We stay well out of sight when they're around." 

"Why don't you move away?" 

"Why should we? That schools only been in that building since the nineteen-sixties, sooner or later they'll burn it down completely and move somewhere else. And one thing I will say, it's driven off most of the other demons from the area, made things a lot safer around here. Haven't seen a vampire since seventy-four." 

"You're kidding! Is that why it's so quiet round here? Supernaturally speaking, I mean." 

"That's it. Look, if you don't plan on killing me, I'll be on my way back to my burrow, the wife's waiting for these spuds." 

"Umm... okay, take your potatoes and keep your nose clean. See you around." 

"Not if I can help it." He grabbed the sack and scuttled away. Buffy resumed her patrol half-heartedly. If the cluricaun was right she wasn't going to find anything, and that took all the fun out of it. 

**TBC**


	7. VI

This is a crossover between Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the St. Trinian's films and books inspired by the cartoons of Ronald Searle. Minor spoilers up to season 7 of Buffy. Set after Season 7 BtVS, after Season 4 Angel. Since there is no real St. Trinian's continuity a mixture of characters from the films, books, etc. has been used. For a good web reference to the St. Trinians stories see users.netmatters.co.uk/ju90/ron.htm 

All characters belong to their respective creators / film companies / etc. and are used without permission, and without any intention of damaging their owners copyright. This story may only be distributed on a non-profit-making basis. 

Work in Progress. If you like this story, check out my other stories on the Fanfiction Net, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fonts of Wisdom websites. 

I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it. 

* * *

**Deeds of Maidenly Unkindness**

_by Marcus L. Rowland_

VI

"A _what?"_ Willow asked the next morning. 

"I think he said cluenicorn. Kinda like a leprechaun. Ring any bells?" 

"Cluricaun?" 

"That's it." 

"Did you actually capture him? Because he's supposed to grant three wishes if you do." 

"No.. not exactly, I kinda cornered him but I didn't really capture him." 

"Thank the goddess. Cluricaun wishes are worse than the ones you get from vengeance demons, they always come out badly. The whole monkey's paw legend comes from them." 

"Just as well I didn't ask for wishes. So... are they evil then?" 

"Not really. They're thieves and drunkards, and they hate granting wishes so they tend to be spiteful about it, but that's about it." 

"If what he said is true, he's probably all the supernatural action I'll see around here." 

"Never mind, Kennedy thinks she's spotted a vamp nest in London. We can take it out next weekend, that'll give you a work-out." 

"Yeah, that'd be good, get some shopping and clubbing done Saturday afternoon and evening, then a late-night slayfest." 

"Meanwhile we'd better get down to breakfast, or we'll be late for our first classes." 

Willow hurriedly finished dressing and they went downstairs together, passing Roberta Stone on the stairs. She watched them until they were out of sight then went to Willow's room, tried the door and found it was locked. She looked around furtively, then pulled out a large bunch of keys and started trying them one by one. 

* * * * *

"...and so," Willow said to her sixth-form chemistry class an hour later, "the chloralkali industry is simultaneously one of the most important branches of chemical manufacturing, and probably the most troublesome industrial polluter. Take a look at the diagram on pages eighty-four and eighty-five, it'll give you a better idea of the way the different processes work together, and how things can go wrong if any one part of the industry gets out of step with the rest. Any questions before we go on?" 

"Is it true you're a witch, Miss?" asked an anonymous voice from the back of the laboratory. 

"Any questions _about the chloralkali industry_ before we go on?" said Willow. 

Another girl shouted "Turn her into a toad, miss!" 

Willow looked at the girls, grinned, and said "I'm kinda out of toad spells. Could turn you both into rats, but I'm kinda out of practice and I might not be able to change you back." 

"Go on miss, we won't hardly notice the difference." 

"Are you calling me a rat?" shouted the first girl. 

"I'm not turning anyone into a rat today," Willow said quietly, but with an air of menace, "but I am handing out detentions. Anyone want to guess how serious I am about that?" There was a sudden silence. "Now, getting back to the chloralkali industry, anyone here like science fiction?" 

Three hands rose uncertainly. "Okay, Miss Post has got in a couple of copies of Zodiac by Neal Stephenson, it's a pretty good eco-thriller that has a lot of interesting things to say about the companies in that business. Take a look, you might enjoy it. That isn't an assignment, by the way, just a recommendation. The assignment I _am_ giving you is to finish reading the chapter, answer questions two through seven using word equations and balanced equations where necessary, and let me have your work by Thursday's lesson. Okay, get your things together, and remember that we'll be doing an experiment tomorrow, so don't be late..." 

* * * * *

Buffy turned her back on her third year gym class and arched backwards until her hands were touching the floor, then shifted her weight onto them and began to lift her feet from the floor. "Now this might look easy," she said, "but it's a little harder than it looks, and you'll have to work up to it slowly." She was standing on her hands, then lifted one hand from the floor, standing on one hand. "Okay, now you might be wondering what good this is, and the answer is it's pretty good for developing your muscle tone and sense of balance. Someone want to throw me a tennis ball from that bucket?" 

One of the girls picked up a ball and threw it at Buffy, hard. She plucked it from the air with her free hand, tossed it up into the air, and said "now throw me another." Soon she was juggling five balls, eventually dropping one, and threw the rest back into the bucket, about fifteen feet away. "upside-down juggling is kinda tricky, and I'm generally better when I do it with throwing knives. Tennis balls just don't have the right heft to them, but I think I've got some juggling balls in my luggage, and if anyone actually wants to try their hand I'll take you through the basics. Now, I'm getting kinda bored here," she flipped from her hands back to her feet with blinding speed, "so let's get on to some calisthenics, that'll let me see what we need to work on before we move on to serious gymnastics...." 

* * * * *

"Okay Abigail," said Willow, "did you decide what you want to keep in the aquarium?" 

"Poison arrow frogs, Miss Rosenberg." 

Willow sighed, and said "let's just go over the whole concept of 'harmless' again, shall we?" 

* * * * *

"Oops," Buffy said guiltily, "Well, that was a smash followed up by a volley. Shame about the racquet, guess I hit it a little too hard. Anyone see where the ball went?" 

"Here Miss Summers," shouted one of the first years, pointing at a hole in the netting around the court, and a small crater in the lawn outside it. 

"New ball, please," said Buffy. 

* * * * *

Willow walked around the IT lab, watching the fourth years working on a programming task that looked easy but was actually a lot harder than it seemed, made a few suggestions, then unlocked the system manager's office and sat down to check that the server was working properly. It was five minutes or so before she noticed an old leather-bound book on the shelf above the monitor. She looked at the cover, didn't recognise it, and cautiously said a protective spell, lifted it down, and opened it. She looked at the first few pages, puzzled, then turned on the desk lamp and tried lighting it from the side. Once she was sure what she was seeing she checked through the rest of the book, noted which pages were blank, and locked it into the office data safe. 

"She's spotted the book," whispered Cathy. "Doesn't look very happy about it. I told you, it's some sort of code." 

"Maybe." said Agnes. "You downloaded the files yet?" 

"Yeah, but I don't want to work on them while she's watching. Wait until study period, we can get on-line then and see if there's a translation." 

"And chat with Malcom." 

"Yeah..." 

In the office Willow pulled the door closed, made sure that nobody could see her desk through the windows, put her hands on the keyboard, and muttered a spell. Her hands briefly glowed, and something intangible moved from her body into the system. 

* * * * *

"Okay, now I must admit I was surprised to see wrestling on the curriculum," Buffy said to the sixth form, her last class of the afternoon, "but it happens I've studied martial arts some, so I should be able to carry on with your training. Could I have a couple of volunteers please, I'd like to see what you can do. Anyone?" 

Two of the larger girls came forward, each of them outweighing her by at least twenty pounds, not all of it muscle, and climbed into the ring. "Okay, Ingrid and.. um.. Hermione, isn't it? Let's try a four minute bout, usual rules, I'll referee." 

Hermione ran at Ingrid and tried for a body slam, but Ingrid dodged, leaped on her back, and began to pull her hair. Hermione crashed into the ropes, screaming with anger, and bounced back onto her back with a loud thud, pinning Ingrid underneath. One of Ingrid's arms snaked around Hermione's neck and tried for a choke, but Hermione blocked it with her chin. Ingrid reached round with her other hand, aiming for Hermione's eyes, and Hermione grabbed her wrist, pulled it towards her mouth, and started to bite. 

"Break!" shouted Buffy. Both girls ignored her. She blew her whistle loudly; when they still didn't stop she grabbed Hermione's nose, hoping she would open her mouth to breathe. Ingrid scythed a leg across the mat, catching the back of Buffy's ankles and knocking her off her feet. She went over backwards, breaking her fall with her arms, and bounced up again before either girl had time to respond. "Okay," said Buffy, "you girls think you can take me? Let's try...." 

* * * * *

"I'm sorry, girls," said Willow, gently shooing a handful of students out of the computer laboratory, "it looks like someone bought a virus in with them today, and I'm gonna have to take care of it. Come back in the morning, things ought to be fine then." 

"But miss," said Cathy, "I've got to type my essay." 

"Use that laptop I saw you with last week, you can print it out in the morning. I'll open the lab extra early for anyone who needs it." 

"But miss..." 

"In the morning, Cathy. Now run along to tea." 

* * * * *

"I'm sorry, Miss Fritton," Buffy said as Hermione was loaded into the ambulance, "I guess I let things get a little out of hand." 

"Well, it'll teach both of them not to try a head-butt unless they're sure of their target." 

"I'm pretty sure they're both just concussed," said the handsome paramedic, eyeing Buffy admiringly as he filled in some details on a form. "A night in the cottage hospital and they'll be as right as rain." 

"You don't seem too worried," said Buffy. 

"I'm out here so often they might as well base me at the school. Seen these two before, they've got heads as hard as rocks." 

"Hope so." 

"You'll see, they'll be fine. Okay, Miss Fritton, just need your signature on the dotted line, and we'll be on our way. Nice seeing you again. And nice meeting you, miss." 

"A pleasure as always, Albert." said Miss Fritton. 

"Likewise," said Buffy. 

Albert shut the doors and the ambulance drove off. "Nice guy," said Buffy. 

"Salt of the earth," said Miss Fritton, "and I'm sure that when the bigamy case finally comes to trial he'll be acquitted without a stain on his character." 

"Bigamy?" 

"Albert has at least two wives and seven children. There just seems to be a little confusion about the precise status of his first marriage when he married the second wife." 

"Okaaay.... maybe I'd better cross him off the list of eligible guys I've seen here." 

"That would probably be a good idea. Anyone else I might know on your list?" 

"Since he was the only guy on it..." 

"Ah well... Talking of young men, didn't you say that you and Miss Rosenberg were visiting Harry for dinner tonight?" 

"Harry? Young? Well... kinda old for me, I think." 

"Yes, I suppose so, but it's a large family, there might be someone more suitable. In any case, shouldn't you be getting ready?" 

"I guess. Don't I have to fill in some sort of official report?" 

"Good heavens, whatever for? Nobody's going to complain about those two getting hurt, if anything it might teach them a lesson." 

"If you're sure?" 

"Positive. Now run along, you don't want to be late." 

"Okay, thanks." 

* * * * *

Buffy found Willow in the computer lab, pacing restlessly and watching the screens as cryptic numbers and messages flashed by. She said "What's up?" 

"I found a book on my desk this afternoon. I'm pretty sure it was a copy of the Book of Moloch. And the first few pages were blank." 

"How's that possible? I thought we'd killed him off for sure. Wasn't the original book a one-off anyway?" 

"You did and it was, but if the book was somehow duplicated it's just possible that any copy could release him. Say someone did a spell to duplicate the book, or bought in a copy from another time line. Wesley told me that there's a big inter-dimensional trade in contraband books." 

"How close a copy is it?" 

"I can't actually read more than a few words at a time without triggering the spell and releasing him on the physical plane, but it looks pretty much identical to the original. The good news is that a lot of the text is still there, that ought to mean that he'll be minus a lot of his power." 

"Any idea where it came from?" 

"My first guess was Gwendolyn Post, but it seemed a little too obvious. Besides, the computer lab's on a flight of stairs, there's no way she'd get her wheelchair up there. Anyway, why would anyone scan part of it, then leave it with someone who'd know what it was almost instantly?" 

"So what do we do?" 

"I'm already on it; I've locked the book away and sealed the safe magically, and I've got three different anti-virus and anti-Trojan programs running, plus some spells that ought to keep him safely contained if the software doesn't get him. But it's kinda worrying." 

"Can you actually do anything about it right now?" 

"Not really, it'll take hours for the software to run completely across the network. Why?" 

"Sounds like we might as well go visit Flash Harry then." 

"But Buffy..." 

"No buts. If you stay here you're just gonna fret. You kinda promised you'd fix his granddad's computer, and Miss Fritton knows it. She seems to think it's important to stay in his good books, and that means we need to do our part. C'mon, let's go shower and get ready." 

* * * * *

"Sammy?" Roberta said to her mobile phone as she walked from the school towards the village. "..yes, Bobby of course, who were you expecting?.... Yes... Yes... Yes, just as you suspected, dear. I'm ninety percent sure of it... No... Yes... Well of course, but don't leave it too long... Mmm... yes, love you too, darling... mmmm.... bye then.." 

She folded the phone and put it back into her pocket, and went into the pub. There was a new barmaid there, and Roberta wanted to check out her form before the place filled with the local yokels. She didn't look gay, but it was always worth checking. 

TBC 


	8. VII

This is a crossover between Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the St. Trinian's films and books inspired by the cartoons of Ronald Searle. Minor spoilers up to season 7 of Buffy. Set after Season 7 BtVS, after Season 4 Angel. Since there is no real St. Trinian's continuity a mixture of characters from the films, books, etc. has been used. For a good web reference to the St. Trinians stories see users.netmatters.co.uk/ju90/ron.htm 

All characters belong to their respective creators / film companies / etc. and are used without permission, and without any intention of damaging their owners copyright. This story may only be distributed on a non-profit-making basis. 

Work in Progress. If you like this story, check out my other stories on the Fanfiction Net, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fonts of Wisdom websites. 

I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it. 

* * *

**Deeds of Maidenly Unkindness**

_by Marcus L. Rowland_

VII

"Is bloody Rosenberg still around?" asked Agnes. 

"She's gone off with that other new teacher," said Cathy. "Left the computer lab locked. Got your picks handy?" 

"Never leave the dorm without them. How long have we got?" They ran downstairs to the lab, where the door was closed. There was a sign saying 'Closed for system maintenance, open 7 AM' on the door. 

"All evening, I think, I heard Summers say something about visiting Flash Harry." 

"Bit old for them, isn't he?" said Agnes, trying a pick. "Keep watch... That's funny, I can't get the pick in." 

"Someone super-glued the lock again?" 

"It _looks_ clear. I'll try something thinner... no, that isn't working either." 

"How come?" 

"I dunno, maybe it's stuck or something." She hit the door with the heel of her hand, then tried the pick again. It seemed to skid across the surface of the lock without going into the keyhole. "That's bloody odd." 

"What is?" 

"I should have scratched the lock just then, but the pick seemed to skid across it. Like there was something protecting it." 

"What?" 

She probed again, and tried to scratch the lock deliberately. "It's like a force field or something, things just slide off it without going in." 

"Keep watch, I'll have a go." Cathy took her place at the door and tried with a screwdriver, then the blade of a penknife. "You're right, I can't even scratch the wood. It's like everything stops a millimetre from the door." 

"I knew there was something weird about Rosenberg," said Agnes. "She's a bloody alien or something. Try the hinges." 

"Can't, they're on the inside." 

"Leave it, someone's coming." They pretended to be reading the sign as Miss Fritton came upstairs towards them. 

"Miss Rosenberg tells me the network won't be usable tonight, girls." 

"Right, Miss Fritton." said Agnes "We'll just have to do something else then." 

"Get some fresh air, it's a lovely evening." 

"Okay, Miss," said Cathy. 

Miss Fritton swept on majestically. 

"Fresh air?" said Agnes, disgustedly. 

"We might as well go out." 

"How come?" 

"Because we're going to need a ladder to get in, and I'm pretty sure they're stored outside." 

* * * * *

"Are you sure this is the right address?" asked Willow, "It looks kinda... well, kinda respectable for Harry." 

They stared at the large house, which stood in an acre of neatly mowed lawn. "I think that's his van," said Buffy, pointing to a battered white Ford Transit. 

"Okay, let's try the doorbell then." 

Buffy pushed the button, and they heard a muffled series of chimes. "Theme from Doctor Zhivago," said Willow. 

A man in his sixties appeared at the door. He looked like an older version of Harry, and even wore the same style of clothing. "Even'. You the ladies from the school?" 

"That's right," said Buffy. "You must be Harry's father, I guess." 

"That's right," he said, grinning and revealing unnaturally perfect but tobacco-stained false teeth. "Call me 'Arry. Come in, 'Arry's expecting you. So's Old 'Arry, my dad." 

They followed him into a brightly-lit hallway, then into a room dominated by a large plasma TV. Harry and an old man they guessed was his grandfather were watching the evening news. "Even', ladies," said Harry. "Nice of you to drop in." The old man turned to look at them and nodded politely. 

"We bought this," said Buffy, handing him a gift-wrapped bottle of gin. 

"Lovely jubbly," said Harry, unwrapping it. "You ladies want some?" 

"Not right now," said Willow, "Kinda need to keep my head clear if I'm gonna be looking at your computer." 

"Tea then, or coffee?" said Harry. 

"Coffee please." 

Harry's father went out and came back a few minutes later with a tray loaded with cups, pots of tea and coffee, a large walnut cake, and jugs of milk and hot water. 

"Tell them," demanded Old Harry, once they were drinking their coffee. 

"Tell us what?" 

"Well..." said Harry, switching off the TV, "we've invited you here under false pretences. There's nothing wrong with granddad's computer." 

"What's this about then?" Buffy asked warily. 

"You ever 'ear the expression 'Chosen One'?" 

"What?" 

"Chosen One," said the old man. "One girl in every generation. Or Slayer, if that's what you prefer." 

"What's this got to do with us?" Willow asked, just as warily. 

"If you're goin' to pretend to be a normal girl," said Harry, "you shouldn't go crushin' rocks with your 'ands. Bit of a give-away, that is. So's travelling with a bag full of swords and crossbows." He picked up the cake knife, and without warning threw it at Buffy's heart. She realised that it would hit her handle-first, caught it easily, and threw it back, deliberately missing his ear by a fraction of an inch. The knife went into the wall behind him with a loud 'thud' and stuck there, the blade nearly an inch deep in the plaster. To anyone else it was a blur of motion, too fast to follow. 

"Yes," said Harry, twitching slightly. "You're the Slayer. An' that means there needs to be a reckonin'." 

"Reckoning?" asked Buffy, somehow knowing that this wasn't a combat situation. 

"It's all here," said Harry's father, slapping some papers onto the table. Willow cautiously picked them up and read them, while Buffy stood, ready to fight if her instincts were wrong. 

"It's an itemised bill," said Willow, "for eighteen thousand, two hundred and eleven pounds." 

"An' eighty-four pence," Harry's grandfather said helpfully. "An' don't forget ter add on a couple of quid for fixin' the wall." 

* * * * *

"Hold it still," hissed Agnes, climbing the ladder towards the window of Willow's office, about twenty feet above a flower bed. 

"I _am_ holding it still," Cathy said crossly. "You're the one that's shaking it." 

"Well, put some weight on it or something, it's wobbling like a jelly." 

Cathy climbed on to the first rung. One of the uprights began to sink into the ground, the other was resting on a stone and stayed on the surface. Neither girl noticed. Agnes reached the top and examined the window. It was closed, and she carefully checked it for signs of a burglar alarm. Nothing, apart from a little sticker reading "Data Protected". She could see that the window was latched closed and reached into her pocket for a suitably-sized screwdriver to lift the latch, couldn't find it, and remembered that Cathy had used it to scratch at the door. "Hsst," she whispered, "bring up that screwdriver." 

Cathy climbed up and handed it to her, and she carefully poked it into the gap. There was a "zap!" noise and Agnes jerked back violently, her arm tingling from an electric shock. For a second most of the weight on the ladder was pulled away from the wall, and it began to slide sideways. There was a rattling crash as it went over, dumping both girls into the rose bushes. Swearing, they began to disentangle themselves from the thorns. 

"Playing hide and seek, girls?" 

They looked up to see Miss Fritton walking in the garden. "That's right, Miss Fritton," said Cathy, hoping that her scratches weren't too obvious. 

"Hmm... if I were you I'd try somewhere that doesn't have thorns, like the potting shed." 

"Yes miss," said Agnes. 

"And while you're there put away that ladder, if you would, I can't think what it's doing there." 

"Yes Miss Fritton." 

* * * * *

"So let me get this straight," said Buffy, "Your family has been working for the Watchers Council since the end of the first world war?" 

"Thereabouts," said Harry. "my great-grandad served with an orficer called Travers on the Somme, saved his life and got offered the job after the war." 

"But you're not actually Watchers?" asked Willow. 

"Not as such, no. Not out of the top drawer like that lot. We're more like what you might call odd-job men, subcontractors." 

"The last time I met people like that they were trying to kill someone," said Buffy, remembering the Council's wet-works squad. 

"I'd 'eard that they 'ave a few mercenaries, but that's not our game. We're like.. like caretakers, keep an eye on the school for them." 

"But why St. Trinian's?" 

"Cos' it's where all the bad girls end up, the troublemakers and the ones that fight and set fire to things, if their parents can pay the fees." Buffy stirred her coffee guiltily, remembering her own schooldays. "Not just from Britain, you've got kids from all over the world, want their kids to have an English education but can't get them into one of the posh schools like Roedean. Every now an' then they'd tell us to keep an extra-careful eye on someone, until they could get a real Watcher assigned to 'er. We've 'ad four or five 'tentials through 'ere, don't think there's ever been an actual Slayer though. Great-Grandad even spotted one 'tential they'd missed, gawd knows how. Apart from that we make sure that the place stays in business, lend an 'elpin' 'and, that sorta thing." 

"So you were last paid in 2002," said Willow, looking at the papers, "and you've kept on doing it anyway?" 

"We saw the Council was in trouble, hard to miss the news when there's an explosion that size. We tried to track down Travers' family, anyone that might still be in touch, but everyone was dead. So we 'ad a family meeting and decided to keep going on credit, like. Seemed the right thing to do. Sooner or later we knew they'd get back in touch. An' 'ere you both are." 

"Meanwhile you've added compound interest and kept track of all your expenses?" 

"A good workman is worthy of his hire," said Old Harry. 

"Try telling the old Council that if you're a Slayer and see how far it got you," said Buffy. 

Willow knew this particular rant all too well, and hastily said "The old Council isn't around any more, but we're rebuilding it. We can forward this stuff to Giles, I'm sure that he'll organise payment. Might take a while, but he won't let you down. If you've got it as an Excel file or something I can e-mail it to him tonight." 

"E-mail?" said Harry, "You wouldn't 'ave seen the old Council using e-mail." He sounded a little disapproving. 

"It'll take a lot longer if I have to send it by snail mail. He's in Cleveland." 

"Okay, I'll get the disk." 

"Before you bring it down, you might want to think about deleting one item. I'm pretty sure that a plasma TV set doesn't count as essential surveillance equipment, and if you leave it in he'll probably take a very close look at the rest." 

"Bollocks," said Old Harry. "Oh well, it was worth a shot. Better cut it." 

"Right you are." Harry went upstairs. 

"So," said Harry's father, "Been a Slayer long?" 

"Ten years now," said Buffy. 

"Blimey. No wonder we 'aven't seen many 'tentials lately." 

"You won't," said Willow. "Things have changed. There isn't just one Slayer and a load of Potentials any more, just Slayers, some more experienced than others. What you might see is a kid who suddenly starts getting strong, really strong. Slayer strong." 

"Hell's teeth," said Old Harry, "if the girls are bad now..." 

"We can have someone there to handle the situation as soon as we know about it," said Buffy, "before anyone gets too badly hurt. Once Giles has checked out your story and expenses we'll explain how it works, get you into the system." 

"How do you mean?" asked Harry's father. 

"You might not have been the sort of people the old Watchers Council wanted, but we're a lot less exclusive. If you want to be Watchers, I'm pretty sure we're gonna want you on the team." 

"Not for me," said Harry, who had come back in as she was talking, "if it's all the same to you I'll go on being a subcontractor. But the lad might be interested." 

"The lad?" 

"My boy 'Arry. E's nineteen." 

"I don't think we've met him." 

"You 'aven't, it's 'is gap year before 'e starts college, 'e's 'itch-'ikin' 'is way across Australia." 

"Well, maybe when he gets back you can put him in touch," said Willow. "We might even be able to help with his college fees." 

"Right, we'll do that." 

"One question," said Buffy, "I hope you don't mind me asking, but... why are you all called Harry?" 

"Old family tradition," said Harry. "Legend 'as it we're all descended from King 'Arold. You Yanks do the same thing, only you put a number on the end." 

"I guess." 

"We'd better get going," said Willow, "it's a little late and I'll need to get on line to send this off to Cleveland." 

"Want a lift back?" asked Harry. 

"Thanks," said Buffy, "but it isn't that far and I don't think all three of us will fit in the front of your van." 

"Don't be daft, I'll get the Jag out." 

* * * * *

"Not far now," said Agnes, as she and Cathy lowered themselves down the wide mock-Tudor chimney. Both were already filthy, despite overalls they'd 'borrowed' from the cleaner's stores. Agnes was in the lead, Cathy above her, swinging on a rope ladder "borrowed" from the gym. 

"Better not be," said Cathy. "Are you sure the fireplace isn't blocked in the computer room?" 

"Positive. When Mad Morag set fire to the chairs last term the smoke just went straight up the chimney." 

"Okay, let's hope you're right." 

"I'm pretty sure." 

"Great..." 

They reached the fireplace, and Agnes said "okay, there's some chicken wire across the chimney, must be there to keep out pigeons, apart from that we're clear. Let me just get the cutters out.... okay, here we go." There were several metallic twangs. "Right, that's got it. Doesn't look like she thought of booby-trapping the fireplace. We're in. She's even left the lights on." 

They switched off their torches and climbed down into the old hearth, shook off as much soot as they could, then ducked under the mantle-piece and into the computer lab. 

"Everything's still running," said Cathy, "and with a bit of luck she's still logged on to all of the machines as the top-level Installer. Couldn't be better." 

"What's she running?" 

"Looks like some sort of anti-virus program, never seen one like it before. Do you think she's trying to get rid of Malcolm?" 

"Must be. Murderous bitch..." 

"Hope it isn't too late." 

As they talked a pop-up window appeared on every screen, a message saying "Help me". 

"Maybe we can download him again," said Agnes. "Put him back on the laptop or something." 

"I'll try it," said Cathy, getting out a blank CD. 

"I really wouldn't do that," said a voice from behind them. They turned, slowly. 

"I think we need to talk," said Willow. 

**TBC**


	9. VIII

This is a crossover between Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the St. Trinian's films and books inspired by the cartoons of Ronald Searle. Minor spoilers up to season 7 of Buffy. Set after Season 7 BtVS, after Season 4 Angel. Since there is no real St. Trinian's continuity a mixture of characters from the films, books, etc. has been used. For a good web reference to the St. Trinians stories see 

All characters belong to their respective creators / film companies / etc. and are used without permission, and without any intention of damaging their owners copyright. This story may only be distributed on a non-profit-making basis. 

Work in Progress. If you like this story, check out my other stories on the Fanfiction Net, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fonts of Wisdom websites. 

I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it.

* * *

**Deeds of Maidenly Unkindness**

_by Marcus L. Rowland_

VIII

Agnes began "We were just trying to..." then faltered, unable to think of a plausible excuse. 

"Rescue Malcolm, I suppose," said Willow 

"You're killing him!" blurted Cathy. 

"Yes. As quickly as I can." 

"What?" 

"What exactly did Malcolm tell you? That he was a boy your age, and that I'd somehow trapped him in your computer?" 

"Something like that," said Agnes. "You know him?" 

"When I was a little older than you I did the same thing. He's very persuasive." 

"Who is he, then?" asked Cathy, edging towards one of the computers. 

"Don't get any closer," said Willow, "You really won't like the consequences. For the moment Malcolm is a computer program. If you like you can think of him as a virus, and one that's very infectious." She said _"Aderiscasi!"_ and her eyes darkened. Cathy tried to move, and found her feet were somehow stuck to the floor. Agnes made the same discovery. 

"What _are_ you?" asked Cathy. 

"You remember those jokes about me being a witch?" 

"But that's rubbish," said Agnes, "it's all... crystals and broomsticks and Harry bloody Potter." 

"And me." There was a pause. "Magic's real, but it's nothing like Harry Potter." Willow's eyes darkened again, and two chairs slid across the floor and rammed into the back of the girls' legs. "Sit down." There was something in her voice that made them both obey. "It's more dangerous than you can imagine. Malcolm is one of the more extreme examples of that." 

"He's a magical program?" asked Agnes, trying to slip a foot out of a shoe and discovering that it was just as firmly stuck as the shoe. 

"He's a demon." 

"A _what?"_

"He's a demon," Willow said calmly. "You may have heard of him. Moloch, very big in Biblical times. He was trapped in a book until someone released him. Was that you, by the way?" 

"Mm..." began Cathy. 

"You broke into my office and tried to hack the server. Nice try, by the way, but if you do it again your laptop will spontaneously combust. What I don't understand is why you were messing about with that book. Where did you find it, anyway?" There was another long silence, and Willow added. "You don't have to answer. But I'm not letting you go until you do, and sooner or later I think you might want to go to the bathroom." 

There was another long pause then Agnes said "It was on the shelf by your desk." 

"We thought there might be passwords in it," said Cathy. "So we started to scan it." 

"Okay," said Willow. "Weird. When did you first see it?" 

"What?" said Agnes, confused. 

"I really don't care why you were trying to hack the computer," said Willow, "my guess is you wanted credit card information from the commercial server, but that isn't important. What's important is Moloch, and how he got there." 

"But why?" said Cathy. "He was nice!" 

"He's about as nice as leprosy," said Willow. "Someone left that book there, expecting me to read it, and I need to know who." 

"It was the first day of term," said Agnes. "During the morning." 

"That's better," said Willow. "Rules out most of the teachers and upper school kids. See anyone hanging around?" 

"No. We waited until everyone was busy outside." 

"How did you get in?" 

"Picked the lock, of course." 

"Thought so. Okay. Just a second...." Willow went to one of the computers and tapped a few keys. A snarling horned face appeared on the screen, roaring with pain. "Hmm... still got a way to go." The screen went dark again. 

"What was that?" asked Cathy, cringing back from the screen. 

"That," said Willow, "was Malcolm. Kinda fugly now I've shut down his glamour spell. Still want to help him?" 

"Um... no," said Agnes, Cathy just shook her head. 

"Wise choice," said Willow. "Okay, now the question is, what am I gonna do with you two. Any suggestions?" 

"Detention?" said Cathy. 

"Why would I want to punish myself by having to look after you? I was thinking more in terms of a plague of boils, something to keep your minds off hacking. Like the sound of that?" 

"Not really," said Agnes. 

"Okay.... how about I wipe your memories of the last week or so, back to the day I arrived? You'd feel kinda disoriented and out of things, but I think you'd be able to catch up in a week or two." 

"Um... Would it hurt?" 

"Only your grades and my conscience. I kinda swore off messing with people's minds. Let's get serious. How about you give me your words that you won't try this again? With a guarantee that something really nasty will happen if you break your words, of course..." 

"How nasty?" asked Cathy. 

"Worst than boils. But only if you try to mess with the network. Or tell anyone about Malcolm or this conversation, of course." 

"Okay," said Agnes. 

"All right," said Cathy, after thinking it over. "But will you tell us how to do this stuff?" 

"Magic?" asked Willow. "No." 

"Why not?" 

"First, it takes years to learn to do much, and I'm only here until July. Second, it really is dangerous. And third, if you messed up I'd get into trouble with your parents. Right now you're.. what, fifteen?" 

"Just about," said Cathy. 

"Okay. What I'll give you is the addresses of some web sites that'll tell you a little about wicca and the technopagans, see if any of that interests you. I'll warn you now that a lot of it is deadly dull, and some of the stuff you'll find on line is just plain wrong, but it's a starting point. I'll leave my contact details with Miss Fritton when I finish here. If you're still interested when you leave school send me an e-mail, and I'll put you in touch with people who can train you if you have talent. It isn't easy, and it may turn out that you just aren't gifted that way, but if you want to try that's how I got started. First I want you to promise me one thing." 

"We won't talk!" said Agnes. 

"You'd better not," Willow said, putting as much menace into her voice as she could, "but that's not what I want you to promise. I want you to agree that you'll put your school-work first, otherwise this stuff takes over your life and ruins your grades. Take an interest, but don't let it be more than that for now. Okay?" 

"But..." 

"No buts. Do you promise?" 

"Yes." 

"And you, Cathy?" 

"Yes miss." 

"Okay then. Good." Willow turned back to the computer and began to run a diagnostic program. 

"Miss..." 

"Oh, right, sorry. _Release_. Don't bang the door on your way..." 

There was a loud thud and a clatter of shoes as the girls fled upstairs. Willow locked the door again and went back to work. 

. . . . .

"So Malcolm's toast," said Willow, "and I shredded the remains of the book and burned it before I went to bed." 

"Talking of toast..." said Buffy, helping herself to another slice and looking around the dining hall to make sure that nobody was misbehaving, "I'm gonna have to watch my waistline with these English breakfasts. Pass the honey." 

"You say that every meal, and I don't think you've put on an ounce." 

"I guess I'm getting a lot of exercise in the gym. Before you got rid of the book, did you think of any way we could trace whoever put it there?" 

"Trace it? Not magically, that's for sure, the residue from Malcolm would have blocked that." 

"I was thinking more of fingerprints, DNA, that sort of thing. You've got that nifty lab..." 

"It's primitive compared to the kinda setup you need to trace DNA. What do you think this is, CSI? And the only fingerprints on it were mine and the kids." 

Miss Fritton joined them at the table and said "Fingerprints, Miss Rosenberg? I hope there hasn't been a problem." 

"Oh... no, no problem, I just had a.. a disk that I couldn't read, thought there might have been grease on it or something. But there wasn't anything apart from a few fingerprints...." She tailed off into an awkward silence. 

"Could it have been caused by the virus you were treating last night?" 

"Maybe. Yeah, come to think of it, I did look at it around the time I noticed there was a problem..." 

"There you are then," Miss Fritton said, beaming, "there's your answer. I hope it wasn't anything too important." 

"No, it's kinda... obsolete data now." 

"I must say I'm impressed by your dedication, and the enthusiasm of the girls. I saw Agnes Spink and Cathy Spiggot waiting for you last night while you were visiting Harry, they seemed very put out that you weren't there." 

"That's okay," said Willow, "They caught up with me later, and I kinda solved their problem." 

"Excellent. And how was Harry's dear grandfather? Were you able to help him with his computer?" 

"Yes, it wasn't too bad really, just needed to kinda fix a couple of connections." 

"Splendid. How about you, Miss Summers, did you enjoy your visit?" 

"Umm.. yeah... it was kinda interesting really. Especially when they were explaining how they were all descended from King Harold." 

"It's total balls, of course," said Dora MacLeod, the history teacher, returning to the table with a plate of fried eggs, bacon, baked beans and fried bread that made Buffy wince for her arteries. "If they're descended from Harold I'm Joan of Arc. I looked into it once, you can trace the family back to 1632 or so, before that it's sheer speculation. 

"1632? Wow! I'm not sure you could trace mine back a hundred years. My folks came from Los Angeles, before that it's anyone's guess, and we lost a lot of our records with Sunnydale." 

"Really? I thought you were evacuated from the town, didn't you take them with you?" 

"More like fled," said Buffy, launching a well-rehearsed cover story. "There was some rioting and the power went out, and the principal of the high school got worried that the school records might be in danger. We were just starting to move them when the place started falling apart and we had to run for it. It was the last bus out of there, my sister was watching from the back window and she could see the road caving in behind us." 

"What were you doing?" asked Miss Fritton. 

"I was kinda trying to stay alive. I was trapped behind some rubble, had to run round the outside. The bus was pulling out by the time I got to it, I just jumped on the back and clung on until it stopped, didn't really have time to watch what was happening behind me." 

"You're lucky you survived." 

"Darn right," said Willow. 

"What about you?" 

"I must have been hit by something when the roof started to cave in. My friends helped me onto the bus, wasn't really paying much attention until it was all over." 

"Did anyone ever work out what happened?" asked Dora. 

"You ask ten geologists," said Willow, "you'll get a dozen different theories. Mostly they agree that some kinda cave system collapsed, but nobody can figure out how something like that could be there in the middle of earthquake country without having given way centuries ago. We knew there were a lot of caves in the hills around the edges of town, but nobody had any idea they went that deep. It's all under water and the remains of the town now, doubt anyone will ever know for sure." 

There was a loud shriek, and they looked around to see one of the fifth-year girls trying to drown another in a ten-gallon tub of porridge at the serving table. "Your turn, Dora," Miss Fritton said calmly. 

"Does that kinda thing happen a lot?" asked Willow, as Dora separated the girls and poured a jug of water over the spluttering victim. 

"Let's see," said Miss Fritton, "it's the third day of term, isn't it?" 

"That's right." 

"About average then. Just enough time to rekindle old rivalries." In a louder voice she added "Miss MacLeod, please make sure that cook disposes of the porridge, I really don't want anyone choking on a hair grip again. And Erica dear, do please stop screaming, porridge is very good for your complexion." 

"You sure there's no Hellmouth?" muttered Buffy. 

"Positive," said Willow, "just youthful high spirits." 

"Mmm, yes," said Miss Fritton, turning her attention back to the table. "that or another tiresome gang war, I believe their parents are... ahem... friendly rivals in the pharmaceutical trade." 

"Drug dealers?" asked Buffy 

"I understand the term 'entrepreneur' is preferred." 

"Riiight." 

"Don't worry, it'll probably blow over by the weekend, these things usually do." 

"That reminds me," said Willow, "are we still okay to take the weekend off?" 

"Provided you're back for breakfast on Monday," said Miss Fritton. "Normally we'd expect you to work on one of the weekend days, but since you've both promised to work both days the following weekend that won't be a problem. When will you be leaving?" 

"Our friend ought to pick us up around seven on Friday evening," said Buffy. 

"Good. Have you arranged for someone to look after the computers over the weekend?" 

Willow looked blank, and said "I hadn't really thought about it. Who usually does it?" 

"Miss Perkins used to leave one of the prefects in charge, but I'm not entirely sure that's a good idea." 

"Why not?" 

"The second weekend she was away seven computers went missing, along with the prefect. She and her boyfriend sold them and spent the money on a fortnight in Majorca." 

"Ouch. Well, I've kinda beefed up the security, don't think we'll have that problem, and I think I can find a couple of trustworthy kids to handle any routine stuff. Ought to be okay provided nothing goes wrong with the servers." 

"Well, if you're sure..." Miss Fritton sounded dubious. 

"I know just the kids to ask," said Willow, "can I give them some house points or something for doing it?" 

"House points? I know some schools use them, but I'm afraid we've never found them very effective. I think Miss Perkins used financial incentives." 

"She _bribed_ the kid?" 

"Not enough, on the face of it." 

"Okay... let me think about this, I'm sure I can come up with something." 

"Good. Let me know what you decide." 

. . . . .

"So what's the real plan for the weekend?" asked Willow, as they walked to the staff room after breakfast. 

"Kennedy picks us up," said Buffy, "we head back to London and crash out for the evening, you two make mad passionate love all night while I hide my head under the pillow so the noise doesn't keep me awake, then sooner or later we head out, get some shopping, and go clubbing and take out the nest Saturday evening. Then we do the touristy stuff on Sunday, get an early night, and Kennedy drives us back early Monday morning." 

"Okay, sounds good to me." 

"First we've gotta get through tomorrow and Friday." Buffy took a look at the notice board and added "Doesn't look like anything too unusual's gonna happen." 

"Yeah, like nothing unusual happened at breakfast. Okay, I've got an A-level chemistry practical periods three and four, I'd better go set things out, then computers after lunch. What about you?" 

"Couple of gym classes in the morning, netball practice after lunch." 

"Isn't the first one now?" 

"Damn, you're right. Okay, catch you later." 

. . . . .

"I'm sorry," said Miss Fritton, "I would have thought someone would have warned you about Jennifer's vertigo." 

"Well yeah," said Buffy, watching the ambulance drive off, "preferably _before_ she climbed the rope ladder and fell off the top..." 

. . . . .

"Right," said Willow, "everyone got safety glasses on? Hair tied back? Okay, _slowly_ add a few drops of the silver nitrate solution, and watch out for the glass to look like a mirror. Whatever you do, don't shake the tube more than you have to, and keep the tubes well away from your faces. Good... good..." There was a "fttttpop!" noise and one of the girls lurched back, coughing and spluttering. "Okay, Eunice, wash your face and hands quickly or your skin'll turn blue. Make sure you don't get any ammonia in your eyes...." 

. . . . .

"Okay," Buffy said, "I want all of you to practice breathing. You'll have a lot more stamina if you really fill and empty your lungs. In.... and out... and in... and out... very good. Big breaths, Amelia!" 

"Yeth," lisped Amelia, looking proudly at her bosom, "and I'm only twelve..." 

. . . . .

"How's it going?" Willow asked at lunch. 

"Another kid in hospital," said Buffy, "it's like there's a curse. God knows what Miss Fritton's report will say about me." 

"Oh... well, I had one kid blow herself up a little." 

"Did she end up in hospital." 

"No... but it was kinda looking that way for a while." 

"I'm not sure that counts." 

"This isn't a contest, Buffy. It's our future careers. I'm not sure what I'll do if I flunk this teaching practice." 

"Don't worry," said Evadne White, "A few accidents are expected. You're both doing better than your predecessors." 

"Considering my predecessor blew up the labs that isn't reassuring," said Willow. 

"Well, Perkins always did have a thing for explosives. She made some wonderful fireworks last year. Of course there was that girl who got third degree burns from one of her sparklers..." 

"I'll bet Miss Ballard never sent three kids to hospital in two days," said Buffy. 

"I think her record was seven. And most of the opposing team in the last lacrosse game, but we don't really count them." 

"Doesn't anyone ever complain?" asked Willow. 

"Oh, constantly, but who can be bothered to pay attention? If the parents really cared they wouldn't dream of sending them here. Eight out of ten just want them out of their lives for a few months, the rest are deluded enough to think that we're turning their precious little thugs into young ladies." 

"Um... right." 

"If that sounds callous, try teaching here for ten years and see how you feel." 

"I just wanna make it through to July," said Buffy. 

"Don't worry about it. Fritton wouldn't dream of firing either of you. Where would she find replacements?" 

"Yeah, but she could give us bad reports." 

"She won't. Believe me, you're not nearly as bad as you think you are." 

"But..." 

"Have you turned up to a class drunk? Stolen money from the children? Sold any of them to white slave traders?" 

"When you put it that way..." said Willow. 

"I won't say that the worst is over, because I don't want to tempt fate, but at least you know what to expect now. Don't worry, you'll both be fine." 

. . . . .

"Any questions?" asked Willow. 

"What's in it for us?" asked Cathy. 

"The satisfaction of knowing that you'll be keeping the computers running for the entire school?" 

"Get real," said Agnes. 

"Okay... you two fancy yourselves as hackers, right?" 

"Yeah, what about it?" 

"I'll give you unrestricted access to everything below Administrator level, and five pounds for every security problem you can find." 

"You're on." 

. . . . .

"Well, I dare say I can get all this stuff," Flash Harry said that evening, "what do you want it for?" 

"It's our art project," lied Cathy. "We're going to make some furniture." 

"Okay, but why the rush?" 

"We're supposed to have it finished by Monday," said Agnes. 

"Okay. I'll phone round a couple of friends, ought to have it here Friday night. That do you?" 

"Just about." 

"Give me twenty quid up front, we'll settle up proper when I've done the business." 

Cathy dug into a sock and pulled out a bundle of creased notes, and paid him with a sigh. 

"Lovely jubbly, pleasure doing business with you." He went off whistling. 

"You sure this is going to work?" asked Agnes. 

"Positive. If Rosenberg thinks we're going to wait years to get some power she's got a surprise coming..." 

. . . . .

"How was I supposed to know mom was going to turn up for a surprise visit?" said Kennedy, driving the convertible through dark country lanes towards St. Trinian's on Sunday evening. 

"I know, sweetie," said Willow, "it isn't anyone's fault. It's just that I feel kinda... uncomfortable about things when she's in the next bedroom." 

"It's not like she doesn't know we're gay. You could still have stayed until the morning. Both of you could." 

"No way am I going to make your mom sleep on the couch or go to a hotel," said Buffy, "and you two need to have some family time." 

"Anyway," said Willow, "we've done everything we'd planned for the weekend, what with the clubbing and the slaying and the shopping. It's a shame about tonight, but we'll make up for it in a couple of weeks." 

"I know." 

Somewhere up ahead was a flickering red light. "Isn't that in the school grounds?" asked Willow. 

"Looks like it." 

Kennedy drove through the gates and slammed the brakes on. In the gardens beside the school an enormous fire was burning, surrounded by cheering children. Buffy and Willow stared, then Kennedy said "Any reason they're burning a wicker man, Willow?" 

**TBC**


	10. IX

This is a crossover between Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the St. Trinian's films and books inspired by the cartoons of Ronald Searle. Minor spoilers up to season 7 of Buffy. Set after Season 7 BtVS, after Season 4 Angel. Since there is no real St. Trinian's continuity a mixture of characters from the films, books, etc. has been used. For a good web reference to the St. Trinians stories see 

All characters belong to their respective creators / film companies / etc. and are used without permission, and without any intention of damaging their owners copyright. This story may only be distributed on a non-profit-making basis. 

Work in Progress. If you like this story, check out my other stories on the Fanfiction Net, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fonts of Wisdom websites. 

I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it. 

Note: British fans of St. Trinians may like to know that the HMV chain now sell four of the classic films as a boxed set of DVDs.

* * *

**Deeds of Maidenly Unkindness**

_by Marcus L. Rowland_

IX

I'm _very_ disappointed in you," Miss Fritton said the following morning, looking down at Cathy and Agnes through her pince-nez glasses. "If Miss Rosenberg and Miss Summers and their friend hadn't arrived, Morag might have been seriously hurt. As for you, Morag," she glanced towards the heavily bandaged girl, "I would have thought that by now you would have more sense." 

There was a chorus of "Yes, Miss Fritton" from Cathy and Agnes, and a mumble from under the bandages. 

"Miss Summers has had to save you from fires twice now, Morag. I really think that's quite enough. Cathy, Agnes, five Saturday afternoon detentions each... with Miss Rosenberg or Miss Summers..." both girls cowered slightly "You will also pay for repairs to the staff room door, Miss Summers had to break the lock to let us out. I'm also confiscating your skeleton keys. Morag, you will write letters thanking Miss Summers, Miss Rosenberg, and Miss Kennedy for their help in rescuing you, at least two sides of paper each. And all three of you, if there's any more talk of human sacrifice, however voluntary it may be, there will be serious consequences. Do I make myself understood? Good. Now go to your lessons." 

The girls shuffled out, leaving Buffy and Willow with Miss Fritton. There was an awkward silence. 

"I guess we kinda blew it," Buffy said eventually. 

"Blew it? What on earth makes you think that?" asked Miss Fritton.. 

"Well, I mentioned Wicca to them," said Willow. "Didn't say anything about human sacrifices, that isn't what Wicca's about, but maybe it gave them the idea." 

"Nonsense," Miss Fritton said briskly. "What gave them the idea was watching The Wicker Man on television. It was on last Wednesday evening." 

"But..." 

"It was their own idea, Miss Rosenberg. Entirely their own idea, unless you really want to be held responsible. There might be some legal repercussions if you were, of course, to you and to the school. And to your future career as a teacher." 

"Oh." 

"Oh indeed, Miss Rosenberg. Fortunately Morag's parents are aware of her proclivities, and the odd second-degree burn no longer alarms them. And it really would be a pity if you were to spend the next few years in a protracted lawsuit. Especially since the school would have to agree that you were responsible to protect itself." 

"When you put it that way," said Buffy, "maybe it was a good thing that we got back in time to stop those fool kids acting out their TV fantasies." 

"Exactly. Now run along, I'm sure that you have classes to teach." 

"But..." said Willow, blinking in confusion. 

"Run along," Miss Fritton repeated firmly. 

Buffy grabbed her arm and steered her out of the office. Miss Fritton waited until they'd shut the door then poured herself a very large gin and tonic. 

"...and that's the situation, Sammy," said Roberta, looking around to make sure that nobody was listening to her phone call. "I know you've been waiting until the right moment, and I'm sure that it's come.... Yes, completely sure..." There was a long pause, then she said "yes, that won't be a problem. I'll back-date it a week and put it in with the rest, by the time she sees the letter it'll be too late." 

Somewhere inside the main school building a badly-tuned piano was playing, and childish voices were singing something about hedgehogs. There was a distant crash of breaking glass, probably a window, and the thud of something heavy falling over. Willow decided to let someone else handle it for a change, she was too tired. Fortunately it looked like the girls she was teaching were too, they were unusually well-behaved. "Okay," she said to the class of thirteen-year-olds standing on one of the lawns, "Now there are twenty-two of you, so we'll start with four rows of five girls. Carmen and Tracy, you can be heat sources, so stay here for now. Each of the rest of you, if there's someone on your left put your left hand on her shoulder. If there's someone ahead of you put your right hand on her shoulder. Everybody.... yes, that does include you, Emily." Willow waited while the girls slowly took up the positions she'd described, with a lot of giggling and pushing. 

"Right now you're like the molecules of a solid. It's pretty rigid, maybe there's a bit of shifting around but on the whole each of you stays more or less where you are in relationship to the rest. Now, the next step is where it gets interesting. I want all of you to stay more or less where you are, but if Carmen or Tracy touches you I want you to shift a foot or so in whatever direction has the least people. The people you're touching have to more too, to stay in touch, and anyone touching them has to move too. If this means that you have to let go, or go in two directions at once, go with whichever direction has the most people. If there's a molecule ahead of you touch their shoulder with your right hand, if there's someone on your left put your left hand on their shoulder. Is that clear? Good.... Okay, now Carmen, I want you to start on this side, just touch people on the outside of the formation, really gently... I said GENTLY, Carmen, this is a science lesson not a boxing match... about one every three or four seconds. Tracy, you take that side." She watched as the girls ran to touch one girl after another. In a surprisingly short time the formation was falling apart, with groups of four or five girls moving around the lawn. 

"That's good," said Willow. "Now the solid's melted, so what we have is a cool liquid, clumps of molecules moving around fairly slowly. You're joining again when the groups come into contact, in physical terms we'd say that you were just above melting point. Let's turn up the heat a little. Carmen and Tracy, you can touch someone once a second. And one... and two... and three..." Soon the formation was reduced to chaos, with Carmen and Tracy chasing groups of two and three girls around the lawn. Willow blew a whistle and said. "Okay, stop. You've melted completely. If Carmen and Tracy were to keep this up you'd soon be separate molecules, a gas. Does everyone get the idea?" 

There was a chorus of "yes miss." 

"Okay, let's go back to the lab. We're gonna try heating a solid and make some observations, and see if we can relate it to what you've just seen." 

Willow turned towards the building and saw Miss Fritton come out, accompanied by a tall woman Willow didn't recognise. "Miss Rosenberg," said Miss Fritton, "this is Miss Kelly, from the Department for Education and Skills. We appear to be being inspected." 

"Do call me Sammy," said Miss Kelly, offering a bony hand. 

"Now, Miss Rosenberg," said Miss Kelly, as the girls heated beakers of ice, "I understand that you're a newly qualified teacher from America, working here to gain some experience before beginning your career in the high school system. Would that be correct?" Behind her Miss Fritton nodded. 

"Um... yes, that's right," lied Willow, crossing her fingers behind her back. 

"Then you'll have proof of your qualifications with you, I assume." 

"Ah...." 

"Come now, Miss Rosenberg, I'm sure you must have brought them with you." Behind her Miss Fritton shook her head. 

"I... I think they're still in Cleveland. Yeah, that's right. The... um... the guy from the teaching agency said we didn't... um... need to bring them with us." 

"That's very irregular," said Miss Kelly, frowning. "What about your colleague, Miss Summers?" 

"The same, I think. Why?" 

"Just curious. Do carry on, Miss Rosenberg, I've several more classes to visit and I really must have a word with your friend..." She swept out, Miss Fritton following her. Willow told two girls to put on safety glasses, another to tie her hair back to keep it out of the bunsen flame, then sat down and pretended to busy herself with some marking. She reached out with her mind, hoping that Buffy wasn't too busy to notice. 

"..so I worked part time as a high school counsellor for a year or so in my second year of college," Buffy lied, "and decided I wanted to teach full-time, maybe work with kids that have special needs." Special as in superhuman strength and speed, she thought. "When we graduated we both wanted to see a little more of the world before we settled down, so we've been taking short-term jobs." 

"And your teaching credentials are available for examination." 

"Oh yeah, totally. Just a sec..." She ran across the gym, climbed a rope, and helped down the girl who was clinging to the top, then went back to Miss Kelly. "Sorry, could see she was getting into trouble there." She turned to the class, blew a whistle, and said "Right. I want all of you down from the bars and the ropes, move the vaulting horse to the side, put the mattresses out on the floor, then practice break falls and rolls." 

"I'd like to see them, please," said Miss Kelly. 

"Sorry, see what?" asked Buffy, pretending to be puzzled. 

"Your teaching credentials." 

"I can fax them to you when I get back to Cleveland." 

"You don't have them with you?" 

"Nobody told me I'd need them." 

"This is very irregular." 

"The Searle Agency took copies, said that was all we'd need." 

"How about your passport? Does that show your profession as as teacher?" 

"Nope, I was a student when it was issued." More lies, she just hoped that Willow could really get them out of trouble. 

"And your work permit?" 

"Umm... that'd be with the Searle Agency too." The truth for a change. 

"Then we'll just have to get them to confirm everything, won't we," Miss Kelly said briskly. "Now, about this incident last night..." 

"Incident?" Buffy asked innocently, and braced herself for interrogation. 

"You really think she fell for it?" asked Willow, who like Buffy was watching the students queue for lunch and attempting to enforce discipline. 

"Who, 'Call me Sammy'? Not a chance. She's just waiting to get the evidence she needs to prove we're not qualified teachers. She's probably talking to the Searle Agency right now. Once she has that she's gonna look for proof that last night wasn't the history society re-enacting a Viking funeral. What the heck made you suggest that anyway?" 

"First thing I thought of." 

"Your lies are getting a lot better, this time last year you would have blamed schoolkids on PCP." 

"Yay me, the improved liar." She raised her voice and said "Freida, stop throwing food or I'm confiscating your Scotch." The sixth-former seemed to be about to argue, hesitated, then sat down sulkily. 

"Scotch?" asked Buffy. 

"I checked her bag when they came in, she had a couple of quarts. And she's a month or so under age." 

"That's a good threat, I guess. Wish we could handle 'Sammy' that easily. Once she talks to the Searle guys we are so dead..." 

"Actually," Miss Fritton said from behind them, "there appears to be an unexpected development in that area." 

"Unexpected?" asked Buffy. 

"The Searle Agency has had a fire of its own." 

"Wow, that's... that's an amazing coincidence," said Willow. 

"Yes, isn't it," Miss Fritton said happily, "I called them to make sure that they were prepared to help Miss Kelly when she contacted them, and a really charming fireman told me what had happened." 

"That really is an odd coincidence," Buffy said uneasily, "what happens about our work permits and pay and so forth?" 

"As it happens I have your work permits in my safe. The agency sent them over once we'd signed the contract." 

"And pay?" asked Willow. 

"I'd imagine that the agency will soon be up and running again, if not we can doubtless come to some sort of arrangement. Though it may take a few weeks to free the funds that we've already paid to them for your salaries..." 

"And our return trip to the States?" asked Buffy. 

"That's a very good question, but if all else fails I'd imagine that Harry will be able to organise something. He has lots of friends in the transport business. Some of them very nearly legitimate, I think. Don't worry, I'm sure that everything will be fine." She swept off, trailing a faint scent of lavender and gin. 

"Goddess," said Willow, "that woman's dangerous." 

"Only just figured it out? She's been running this place for decades, Willow. I think she could face down demons without sweating it. I'm just wondering how she arranged to get the fire started." 

"You're kidding." 

"I wouldn't put it past her." 

Miss Fritton climbed the steps to the stage at the other end of the hall and said "Girls. Girls. I have an important announcement." The noise of the dining hall slowly subsided. "There will be a meeting for all staff at one thirty, afternoon school will now begin at two." The hall echoed with cheers. 

"Now then," said Miss Fritton, "We appear to have a viper in our bosom. This morning's little visit by our friends from Whitehall was carefully planned to cause maximum embarassment to the school. It's undoubtedly the prelude to another attempt to close us." 

"High bloody time," said Evadne White, "if it wasn't for the money." There was a general murmur of agreement. 

"Exactly, ladies," said Miss Fritton. "I'd imagine that we would all prefer to continue this school's proud tradition of education... and, of course, continue to draw our salaries. But someone with access to the school office is evidently spying on us for Whitehall. I should have received at least twenty-four hour's written notice of today's visit. When I checked I found the notification in my in-tray, backdated a week, in an envelope that was still damp from being sealed. Someone told that blasted woman that there had been an incident, and had the letter ready to slip into my in-tray. My guess is that someone from her office is impersonating a sixth-former, there are several new girls this term. Miss Rosenberg..." 

"Yes, Miss Fritton?" said Willow, in an uncertain voice. Miss Fritton gave her the envelope in a plastic bag. "I'd imagine that this was printed via one of the school computers and printers, perhaps you can trace it. Or maybe there are fingerprints or something." 

"I guess." 

"Please be discreet, Miss Rosenberg. Perhaps you could do something about fingerprints in a science lesson...?" 

"Sure, it kinda fits into genetics." 

"Miss Summers..." Buffy nodded, "you see all of the girls for sports lessons. Perhaps you could see if any of the girls appear to be unusually... ah... developed for their stated ages." 

"Uh... I think you can get arrested for that kinda thing." 

"Hmm... well, maybe not then. Perhaps you can assist Miss Rosenberg instead." 

"Why them?" asked Roberta Sloane, rising to her feet. "Shouldn't it be one of us, someone you can trust? With all due respects to Miss Rosenberg and Miss Summers, they've only been here a few weeks. How do you know they aren't working for that bitch Kelly?" 

"Because they were recruited in America," Miss Fritton explained patiently, "by a private company which vets its candidates very carefully. I'm reasonably sure that they are who they say they are." 

Roberta said "Hmph!" skeptically but sat down again. 

"The rest of you, please be on the lookout for any unusual behaviour. We don't want to be caught out again. Sooner or later she'll be back. Now it's ten to two, I'd suggest we all finish our tea and get back to work. Oh Miss Summers, Miss Rosenberg..." She gestured to them, and drew them off to one side. 

"Yes?" asked Buffy. 

"It may be nothing," Miss Fritton said very quietly, "but I was with Miss Kelly the whole time she was here, and she never went near Roberta's class. I can't help wondering why Roberta dislikes the woman since so far as I know they've never met." 

"Paranoid much?" said Buffy, then "yeah, the old protesting too much scam. We'll do a little digging..." 

**TBC**


	11. X

This is a crossover between Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the St. Trinian's films and books inspired by the cartoons of Ronald Searle. Minor spoilers up to season 7 of Buffy. Set after Season 7 BtVS, after Season 4 Angel. Since there is no real St. Trinian's continuity a mixture of characters from the films, books, etc. has been used. For a good web reference to the St. Trinians stories see 

All characters belong to their respective creators / film companies / etc. and are used without permission, and without any intention of damaging their owners copyright. This story may only be distributed on a non-profit-making basis. 

Work in Progress. If you like this story, check out my other stories on the Fanfiction Net, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fonts of Wisdom websites. 

I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it. 

Note: British fans of St. Trinians may like to know that the HMV chain now sell four of the classic films as a boxed set of DVDs. 

Apologies for the long delay - I'm currently very busy with other things, especially my games writing (which actually helps to pay the bills), so updates will be slow. I do intend to finish everything I've started.

* * *

**Deeds of Maidenly Unkindness**

_by Marcus L. Rowland_

X

"Have there been any developments?" Miss Fritton asked three days later, when she happened to meet Buffy in a deserted corridor. 

"Not really," said Buffy. "Willow hasn't found anything that gives us a clue, and I'm pretty sure that the sixth form really are all about seventeen or eighteen." 

"What about Roberta? Have you eliminated her?" 

"No. Willow checked the letter for fingerprints, but there's nothing clear enough for identification. We've both mentioned Kelly to Roberta but she kinda dodged the question. I'm beginning to wonder if it's maybe something personal, nothing to do with the inspection. Uh... Willow kinda thinks they both might be gay." 

"Roberta certainly is, I didn't see enough of Kelly. I'd imagine that Miss Rosenberg is a good judge?" 

"I guess," said Buffy, without saying why. She had a feeling that Miss Fritton had already worked that one out. "If Roberta is her spy she's keeping a low profile." 

"Well, nothing much has happened since then, maybe they're waiting for another incident. We'll just have to see what happens." Miss Fritton seemed to shift gear as a group of girls came down the corridor and added "I see we're playing Roedean on Saturday. Is the hockey team ready for the match?" 

_"This_ Saturday?" Buffy said faintly. 

"Yes, of course. Why, is there a problem?" 

"Umm..." said Buffy. "How good are Roedean?" 

"Probably the best in the country." 

"Ah... maybe we need a little more practice then. Can I arrange one after classes, say on Thursday?" 

"Of course, though I doubt the girls will be very keen." 

"Pity..." 

"Pity indeed. I'd imagine there's quite a lot of money riding on the match." 

"You let the kids bet on the matches?" 

"I doubt we could stop them. I've bet fifty myself." 

"Fifty pounds? That's nearly a hundred dollars!" 

"Yes, but if we win by five points or more I'll pocket five hundred. That ought to pay the deposit on the next stage of the repairs." 

"Holy... Is there any way you can cancel the bet? I think it might be kinda optimistic." 

"Not really. But don't worry, I'm sure that the girls won't let you down." 

"I wish I was." 

"Oh, I do have a little good news," said Miss Fritton. "The hospital tells me that Cathy and Agnes definitely aren't contagious. They want to keep them for a few more days of observation, but the boils do seem to be clearing up gradually." 

"They must have been allergic to wicker or something," said Buffy. In her head she spelled it 'Wicca'. 

. . . . .

"No," Willow said a couple of hours later. "I'm not gonna work any mojo on Roedean." 

"Just a little? For me? They're gonna trample our team into the dust." 

"Mud. British spring weather, remember?" 

"Whatever. You're not gonna help?" said Buffy, noticing with annoyance that there was a hint of a whine in her voice. "I know you're trying not to over-do things, but this is important." 

"Don't need to," said Willow, grinning. "You'll see." 

"You turning into a seer or something?" 

"Nope... but I've got a feeling that someone's gonna work some magic of their own." 

"Magic as in Wicca?" 

"Nope." She grinned again. 

"C'mon," said Buffy. "Give. You know you're gonna tell me eventually." 

"That depends," said Willow. "Let's say... just hypothetically... that I had an idea that someone from the school was gonna try to rig the match. Do you really want to know the details? It'd kinda make you an accessory. Me too, if I really knew for sure." 

"When you put it that way... um... is there anything I _shouldn't_ be noticing? Or doing?" 

"You might want to stay out of the changing room Roedean are using before the match. Oh, and don't look too carefully at our own team." 

"I'm not gonna have to confiscate more knives, am I? No guns or explosives?" 

"Nope. Hope not, anyway." 

"I'll have to check, I guess." 

"Maybe not a bad idea. But apart from that don't look too close." 

"Willow... do you think there's some sort of evil influence at work here? You know, it feels odd to be talking about rigging a hockey match, it's the kinda thing Faith might have done in the old days." 

"Nah... screwed the team, maybe, if they'd been guys." 

"Good point." 

"What worries me," said Willow, "is that all this stuff is distracting us from the Moloch business. That was a deliberate attempt to release a demon, and we still have no idea who it was that put the book there." 

"I'm still betting on Post," said Buffy. "She's the only one around that might know about that kinda thing, apart from us." 

"There are still stairs outside the computer room, and she's still in a wheelchair. And I hacked her medical records, no way is she walking again. If you need a suspect, what about Harry?" 

"Harry?" said Buffy, surprised. "Umm… I guess it's possible, never really thought about it. He's more a utility guy, kinda mercenary version of Xander. But where would he get the book?" 

"Where would he get a truck-load of free gymnasium equipment in a day or so?" asked Willow. "He's got connections, maybe some of them are in the supernatural community." 

"Maybe, but if he had wouldn't he have known how to contact us a couple of years ago?" 

"Maybe… or, I know, maybe they were trying to keep a low profile until they realised who you were. Perhaps he thought you'd know he'd worked for the Watchers, decided to bluff it out." 

"That kinda makes sense…" 

"But you're not buying it," said Willow. 

"It doesn't feel right, somehow. Why would he put the book there in the first place? We didn't have any clue he'd worked for the Watchers, and we certainly weren't looking for supernatural trouble." 

"Thing is," said Willow, "you only need to read a page or so to invoke Moloch. We got lucky that Cathy and Agnes scanned the book without trying to understand it, if they'd just read a little more and understood what they read they'd have been possessed. And if I'd read it I would have been possessed. If I was careless and had my shields down, of course." 

"If it was aimed at you," said Buffy, "whoever left it underestimated you." 

"Or maybe it was meant to fail, a.. a warning shot kinda thing." 

"I'd go with underestimated," said Buffy, "or maybe it was someone who knew you'd fallen for Moloch before. Someone like Gwendolyn Post, for example." 

"I thought you were heading back there," said Willow, with an annoyed look in her eyes. "Are you sure it isn't just because you don't like her?" 

"I honestly don't know. I just think that the new fluffy librarian version's a little too good to be true." 

"Can't argue with that. But we've really got no evidence against her, and at least one reason to think it isn't her." 

"Okay... so, what about the match?" 

"I've bet ten pounds on St. Trinians to win by five points." 

"Willow!" 

"Not too late to place a bet, Buffy." 

"I'll think about it." 

. . . . .

"It's nice to see the girls making the Roedean team so welcome," said Miss Fritton, looking around the dining hall, watching the St. Trinian's and Roedean teams eat a light lunch. Fourth-form girls waited on the tables, serving salad, cold meats, and soft drinks. 

"It's creepy," said Buffy, "I thought that by now there'd be blood spilled." 

"Ah, my dear, that comes later." 

"That's what I'm afraid of." 

. . . . .

"I can't believe it," said Buffy, "Roedean's three players down and we're not even halfway through the match." 

On the field stretcher-bearers removed one of the girls who was clutching her abdomen. 

"I guess it must be something they ate," said Willow. Buffy looked at her suspiciously, and said "Such as?" 

"I'm wondering if there was something a little off... say the salmon mousse." 

"Not the salmon mousse," said Miss Fritton, "I had some of that myself." 

"Besides," said Willow, "food poisoning doesn't work that fast." The referee (from a third, neutral school) blew her whistle and the game began again. 

"I say," said Evadne, about twenty seconds later, "wasn't that a foul?" One of the St. Trinian's players had the ball, one of the Roedean players was sprawled in the mud. And as Buffy watched, was trampled by four more of the St. Trinian's players. 

"Referee hasn't blown her whistle," Buffy said gleefully, as the school cheered. "And that's another point for us." 

"Puts us three up," said Willow. "And it must be nearly half time." 

The referee blew her whistle again, and the teams went off to the changing rooms, two of the Roedean girls supporting the girl who'd been trampled. Buffy went into the St. Trinian's changing room and tried to talk tactics, the girls ignored her while chanting "Three up! Three UP!" 

"Don't worry," said one of the players - Hermione, one of the stars of the wrestling squad - "Stinks put the boot in for us good and proper. We're going to walk it." 

"Stinks?" said Buffy. 

Before Hermione could answer there was a loud scream from the adjoining changing room, and Buffy looked out to see the Roedean girls running out, panic-stricken, with an angry and somehow familiar boa constrictor in pursuit. Buffy sighed and went out to catch it before somebody got hurt. 

. . . . .

"Five up," said Miss Fritton. "Are you sure you're all right in there?" 

"I'm fine," said Buffy, trying to pretend that there was nothing unusual about sitting with several yards of constrictor wrapped around her. Because some of the Roedean teachers were in earshot she added "She's as gentle as a kitten anyway. I can't think what the girls were afraid of." 

"She does seem to be squeezing awfully hard," said Evadne White. 

"Maybe she's a little upset, but it isn't doing me any harm. Anyway, I'm glad I found her, it'd be horrible if our mascot got hurt." 

"Mascot?" asked one of the Roedean teachers. 

"Sure," said Buffy. "She must have got out of our changing room during the first half." 

A few minutes later, with Roedean six down and minus another two players, Buffy turned to Miss Fritton and quietly said "By the way, what does stinks mean?" 

"Stinks?" 

"Yeah, one of the girls said that 'Stinks put the boot in for us,' I didn't have time to ask what she meant." 

"Oh... Well, my dear, 'Stinks' is schoolgirl slang for chemistry, or for a science teacher." 

"Okaay. After the match I think Willow and I need to have a little talk." 

. . . . .

"Well," Willow said reluctantly, when Buffy had removed the snake and they were safely clear of the playing field. "I suppose I might have given some of the girls a little hand with their botany project." 

"Botany?" 

"They wanted to classify all the wild fungi in the area, I gave them some help with identification keys, and... um... the toxicological side of things." 

"The mushroom pate?" 

"Well... I don't know that for sure. But if I'm right it was more of a toadstool pate. Just as well that the plate got dropped before it reached our table." 

_"Willow!"_

"It's not like there's anything really lethal around here, unless someone has a stomach ulcer or something. And we won the game, didn't we? By eleven points!" 

"And the snake?" 

"Oh, that was Abigail's contribution, I think. She must have gotten her father to send it to her." 

"With a little help from Harry, maybe. Thought I didn't see him during the first half." 

"Maybe. I wasn't planning to ask." 

"And the dye in the showers?" 

"Damned if I know. Bit silly, really, they didn't shower until after the game. I'm sure it'll scrub off in a week or so." 

"We're supposed to be setting a good example, Willow!" 

"Right now, Buffy, I think I'll settle for surviving to the end of the term." 

"Okay, fine," said Buffy, in a way that made it clear that it wasn't. 

"Look at it this way, Buffy. You just coached your first team to a record-breaking victory. They may have cheated, but you didn't. Come to that, the team actually played pretty well, it was their supporters that cheated. No blood was spilled, and everyone'll be okay in a day or two. It's the cleanest game St. Trinian's have ever played." 

Buffy thought about it, and slowly started to smile. 

"What's got you so cheerful all of a sudden?" asked the relieved Willow. 

"The thought of the chocolates you're gonna buy me with your winnings." 

"Chocolates?" 

"Belgian. At least a half pound." 

"Blackmailer!" 

"You'd better believe it." 

"Anyway," said Willow, "Now that you're feeling better, let's get down to the dining hall, there's gonna be a victory feast. With fireworks afterwards." 

"Fireworks? I hope you didn't make them, remember what happened when the last science teacher tried that." 

"I'm not Gandalf, Buffy. Harry got them cheap from one of his contacts." 

"Riiight... Do I really want to think about the things that could go wrong with cheap fireworks?" 

"Nope. But don't worry, the place is insured." 

**TBC**


	12. XI

This is a crossover between Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the St. Trinian's films and books inspired by the cartoons of Ronald Searle. Minor spoilers up to season 7 of Buffy. Set after Season 7 BtVS, after Season 4 Angel. Since there is no real St. Trinian's continuity a mixture of characters from the films, books, etc. has been used. For a good web reference to the St. Trinians stories see characters belong to their respective creators / film companies / etc. and are used without permission, and without any intention of damaging their owners copyright. This story may only be distributed on a non-profit-making basis.

Work in Progress. If you like this story, check out my other stories on the Fanfiction Net, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fonts of Wisdom websites.

I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it.

Note: British fans of St. Trinians may like to know that the HMV chain now sell four of the classic films as a boxed set of DVDs.

Apologies for the long delay - I'm currently very busy with other things, especially my games writing, so updates will be slow. My latest game is a charity project, The Original Flatland Role Playing Game, all of my proceeds from it will be donated to Doctors Without Borders. See my web site for details. I do intend to finish all the fanfic I've started, but it may take a while.

* * *

**Deeds of Maidenly Unkindness**

_by Marcus L. Rowland_

XI

"...And we still need to be careful about our friends from the Ministry... I do beg their pardon, the Department," Miss Fritton said at the weekly staff meeting. "A little bird tells me that last month's visitor is in line for promotion if she can... ah... find evidence of serious irregularity in one of the schools in her area. Unfortunately we're by far the most obvious target, so we should be alert for another visit."

"Bloody hell," grumbled Dora MacLeod, "the bastards have really had it in for us since Labour got in." There was a murmur of agreement.

"Oh, pooh, politics don't come into it," said Miss Fritton, "we had excellent relations with the Ministry under the Labour government in the sixties."

"Only because you were sleeping with the Minister," said Evadne White, none too quietly. Miss Fritton pretended not to hear, and went on "Now on to other matters. I need to remind everyone that public examinations begin next Wednesday. As usual it's essential to be vigilant - there will undoubtedly be attempts to gain access to the papers, there always are. Those of you who will be running practical and oral examinations need to be especially careful, of course, since you need to work with the papers while making your preparations."

"I've already caught two girls looking through my desk in the lab," said Willow. "I think they thought I might have the chemistry paper hidden there."

"Isn't it?" asked Roberta Sloane.

"Of course not," said Willow, "I've got it somewhere much safer."

"We all need to be careful," said Miss Fritton. "Now the lower school girls will be taking internal examinations..."

oOoOoOo

"Think she took the bait?" Buffy asked after the meeting ended. Neither of them had classes, and they strolled out onto the lawn to get some fresh air before the next lesson.

"I'm pretty sure of it," murmured Willow. "In fact... yes, someone just opened the door to my room."

"Will she see anything she shouldn't?"

"Not a chance," said Willow, "anything like that is spelled to stop people noticing, same for your weapons, and... she's found the instructions for the practical exam. Honking big envelope on the table's kinda hard to miss."

"She'll need about fifteen minutes to get copies," said Buffy. "What do you think she'll do with them?"

"Leave them somewhere the kids can find them, I guess. She'll want to minimise her involvement, so she probably won't try to sell them. She'll leave that to the girls."

"How will you know if they've taken the bait?"

"Easy," said Willow. "They'll want to check out the reactions, see how things are supposed to work. Easiest way to do that is Google and the other search engines."

"And you're monitoring the network?"

"Yup."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"No, it's pretty well covered for now. The chemistry exam's Friday morning, and I expect that's when the crunch will come."

"Friday? But I've got my tennis class then..."

"Not this week you haven't..."

oOoOoOo

"Okay, everyone," said Willow. "Everyone got pens and pencils? Calculators? Rulers? Just a reminder of the rules of the exam. You're allowed to look at your text books and notes. You are not allowed to talk or help each other, or communicate in any way. If anyone has a phone you have to switch it off and hand it in now - if I find one later you'll lose all marks from the exam... okay, thank you, Chloe. I'm sure it was an oversight. Rita, could I have yours too please?"

"It's switched off," said Rita, one of the less attractive sixth-form girls.

"Hand it over, or miss the test."

Rita reluctantly handed over the phone. "And all the hands-free stuff, please." said Willow.

"It doesn't work without the phone."

"That's a Bluetooth headset. It'd work pretty well if someone happened to be on the floor below with another phone. Hand it over." Rita sulkily complied. Willow switched everything off and dropped them into her desk drawer.

"Good. Now then, all of you have all of the chemicals and equipment you'll need on the benches in front of you. The balances are on the benches there and there - there are eight of you sharing two balances, but you should only need to use them a couple of times so that shouldn't be a problem. The exam center number and your candidate numbers are on the board, I want all of you to turn over your papers now and write them in the boxes at the top right. Okay, it's now a minute to nine, we'll start at nine and finish at eleven.

Behind Willow the door swung open, and a familiar voice said "Just a moment, please."

Willow turned to see 'Call me Sammy' Kelly and Miss Fritton standing in the doorway.

"We're supposed to start at nine," said Willow.

"I need to check your students' notes," said Kelly. "We've been informed that they've obtained copies of the paper."

"Okay," said Willow. "Everyone bring your notebooks to the front. Now please."

Reluctantly the girls brought their books forward. Kelly leafed through the pages and said "Here... and here... and here. They all have the same experimental notes."

"Okay... but what's that got to do with this exam?"

"This paper," said Kelly, pulling out a photocopied sheet, "has been circulating amongst your girls."

"Okay," said Willow, glancing at it, "but that's not the exam paper."

"It's not?"

"Take a look for yourself." Willow handed Kelly one of the spare copies. She looked at it, leafed through the first few pages, and turned pale.

"This isn't..."

"The paper the girls have seen? No, I kinda faked that one up to stop cheating. It's amazing what you can do with the right DTP software. There's nothing in there that's in the real paper, and I made mine kinda hard so they'd have to do some real studying to figure out how everything worked. They might think that they've been cheating, but they haven't." There were angry murmurs from several of the girls. "Ought to come in handy when they do the theory exam."

"In that case..." Kelly began.

"In that case," interrupted Willow, "The real question is how they got hold of it. How you got hold of it, for that matter."

"It was sent to me anonymously," said Kelly.

"Not as anonymous as all that," said Willow, holding it up to the light. "Hey look, there's a fingerprint here. Kinda pale right now, but it's getting darker by the second."

"That's..."

"You see," said Willow, "I knew someone was snooping around my stuff, I thought I'd set a little trap. Of course I was expecting it to be one of the girls, but they all look pretty clean to me. No dye on their hands. They haven't been handling the original paper. But whoever sent this to you must have handled it and absorbed it into their skin in the first fifteen minutes or so after the envelope was opened, after that it stopped working. Unless it was already in their skin, of course."

"So we're looking for someone with purple hands?" asked Miss Fritton.

"As of a few minutes ago. Purple hands and fingerprints like that, shouldn't be hard to find. I've got Buffy looking around the place, she ought to find the right person pretty quickly."

"If there's nothing else," said Miss Fritton, "Perhaps we'd better leave Miss Rosenberg to get on with the examination and find Miss Summers."

"Err..." said Kelly. Miss Fritton took her firmly by the arm and led her out of the laboratory.

"Okay," said Willow. "Fun's over. The time's now nine oh-seven, come and get your notebooks back and remember that cheats don't prosper. We'll start at nine ten, finish at eleven ten."

oOoOoOo

"I must say I'm shocked and surprised, Roberta," said Miss Fritton. "To think that you of all people would try to help the children cheat. Whatever can have possessed you?"

"I... err..." said Roberta, twisting purple hands together.

"I'm afraid that the police will have to be involved," said Miss Fritton. "If it hadn't been for Miss Rosenberg's foresight the girls might have seen the real examination, and then where would we be? Why, anyone might think that you wanted to cause problems for the school. But how on earth could that benefit you?"

"Obviously the Department takes a serious view of cheating..." began Kelly. Behind her Buffy unobtrusively reached into her pocket and pressed a button. A fraction of a second later Kelly's bag began to play the 1812 overture. "I'm sorry," said Kelly, "I'd better get that." She reached in and got out her mobile phone, and said "Hello? Hello?"

Buffy pulled out Roberta's phone and said "Now that's interesting. Here's Roberta's phone, and the number she dials most is yours. I guess the police will be kinda interested in that."

"That does seem rather difficult to explain," said Miss Fritton.

"Unless maybe 'Sammy' here had Roberta spying on the school or something," said Buffy, "offered her a job if she dug up enough dirt. But sabotaging the exam's kinda naughty."

"All right," said Kelly. "What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing that you can't do, I should think," said Miss Fritton. "A written statement from you both admitting what you've done... which will be kept quite confidential so long as there is no more interference in the normal running of this school... and a small pay cut for you, Roberta."

"That's blackmail!" said Kelly.

"You're quite at liberty to help Roberta find a job in another school, or at the Department, of course. Though there does seem to be an unfair prejudice against former St. Trinian's staff... As for you, Miss Kelly, I'm sure that you can find another route to promotion. With all the time your department seems to waste trying to shut St. Trinian's, the other schools in this area can't be getting much attention. It wouldn't surprise me if some of them were getting away with murder. Someone really ought to look into it." She opened a folder on her desk and gave Roberta and Kelly neatly typed statements. "Do please feel free to make any corrections before you sign."

Kelly angrily read her paper and signed it. Roberta hesitantly followed her lead. Miss Fritton took them and sealed them into a manilla envelope, and put it into her safe. "Now then," she said. "that was relatively painless, wasn't it. Roberta, I think you need to wash your hands."

"It won't come off," said Roberta.

"Miss Summers, did Miss Rosenberg happen to mention how to remove it?"

"Nope. We'll have to ask her after the exam's over."

"Very well," said Miss Fritton, "can I offer you anything before you go, Miss Kelly?"

"That's all right," said Kelly. "I think I'd better get on to my next appointment."

"Ah well... I'd imagine that we won't meet again in the near future. Do have a safe trip. And if by any chance this school should qualify for any extra funding from your department, I do hope that we will be properly considered. It wouldn't do to have the parents or the press think that the school isn't being treated fairly." The threat was veiled but clear.

"I quite understand," said Kelly.

"Would you mind showing Miss Kelly out, Miss Summers."

"Sure."

Buffy led Kelly to the entrance. Kelly said nothing until they reached her car, then asked "Are you planning to carry on teaching in Britain?"

"Nope. Willow and I are out of here at the start of the summer break."

"Good... Because one devious bitch like Fritton's enough for me to handle, I'd hate to have to deal with Rosenberg too."

"Don't worry," said Buffy, "she's got other plans."

As Kelly drove off Buffy noticed that the trunk of her car was open, and wondered what the girls had stolen. Judging by the trail of oil the car was leaving, it was probably the tool kit...

**TBC**


	13. XII

This is a crossover between Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the St. Trinian's films and books inspired by the cartoons of Ronald Searle. Minor spoilers up to season 7 of Buffy. Set after Season 7 BtVS, after Season 4 Angel and now very AU.

All characters belong to their respective creators / film companies / etc. and are used without permission, and without any intention of damaging their owners copyright. This story may only be distributed on a non-profit-making basis.

Work in Progress. If you like this story, check out my other stories on the Fanfiction Net, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fonts of Wisdom websites.

I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it. Apologies for the long delay - I do intend to finish all the fanfic I've started, but it may take a while.

**Deeds of Maidenly Unkindness**

_by Marcus L. Rowland_

XII

"Did I hear your phone really late last night?" Willow asked over breakfast the following Sunday.

"Yeah," Buffy said quietly. "Giles called. Tell you about it later, it's kinda private."

"Oh. Something I should be worrying about?"

"Private, Willow."

"Okay."

"Is there a problem, Miss Summers?" Miss Fritton asked a few minutes later. "You seemed a little upset."

"My little sister's been staying with an old friend in Cleveland, he... um... phoned me last night." Buffy didn't say why.

"Oh dear. If I can help in any way, I do have some experience of the problems girls can encounter."

"I think it'll be okay," said Buffy. "It's kinda delicate, Willow knows about it so if you don't mind I'll just talk it over with her for now. But if it escalates at all I'll certainly ask your advice."

"And my door is always open, of course. Well, locked, I have to keep the riff-raff out, but you can knock."

"Thanks."

oOoOoOo

"So what's wrong with Dawn?" asked Willow, when they were alone in her office. Buffy moved her hand to her ear, and Willow activated a cloaking spell that would muffle their voices to an unintelligible mumble. "Okay, it should be safe to talk. What's wrong with Dawn?"

"Nothing," said Buffy, "I just kinda let Miss Fritton draw her own conclusions. Giles had some news about the Book of Moloch."

"He finally found something?"

"Yeah. Or rather Wesley did, and Angel passed the word back to Giles. Seems that Wolfram and Hart London imported a copy from the world with giant hedgehogs about a week before you found it."

Willow asked "Who bought it?"

"Angel doesn't know, that kind of information doesn't get passed around, and he has no way to get at it. It was just mentioned in passing in the company quarterly report. Nobody from Angel's crew noticed at the time, it was buried in with a whole load of acquisitions and transactions."

"Darn. Is that it?"

"No," said Buffy. "A few days after we found that copy, Wolfram and Hart London put out a request for another one. But again it was kinda low key, nobody told us."

"Someone still wants it? What the hell for?"

"Someone did want it. That's what I'm getting to. On Wednesday Wolfram and Hart Berlin emailed all of the other branches, told them to stop looking, they'd found a copy in one of the troll dimensions. This time Wes spotted it. But it's probably already in Britain, he didn't see the message until Thursday."

"Wait a minute," said Willow. "Getting back to the original book... Wolfram and Hart London imported that copy a week before I found it?"

"About that, yes."

"Then we've been all wrong about this. I was assuming that someone had the book handy and decided to use it on us, but if it was a recent import it must have taken weeks to find a copy, the order must have been placed before we even applied at the Searle agency. It wasn't originally aimed at me at all, someone wanted to summon Moloch."

"So why dump it in your office?" asked Buffy.

"Now that," said Willow, "is the million-dollar question."

"No, the big question is what's happening to the new copy."

"Do you think we need backup?"

"Not yet," said Buffy. "No... wait a minute, let me think. Give me your phone, I need to make a couple of calls."

oOoOoOo

"Any packages?" Buffy asked the following morning, as the day's mailbag was unloaded from a Post Office van.

"There's always packages," said the grumpy postman. "Bloody kids get dozens of them. Magazines, clothes, that sort of thing."

"Oh, right," said Buffy. "What I'm looking for would be a book, sent from London, kinda heavy." She outlined the approximate dimensions of the previous book. "I need it for a lesson this morning, it'd help if I could grab it now."

"Nothing like that," said the postman. "Biggest is half that size."

"Okay," said Buffy, "maybe it'll turn up tomorrow. Wait a second... it didn't come in at the end of last week, did it? Maybe it went to the wrong person?"

"Not that I saw, and I did every run here last week."

"Okay... thanks, anyway."

She followed him to the school office and had a quick look at the post before admitting defeat. There was nothing even remotely large and heavy enough to be the Book of Moloch. But for some reason her spider sense was tingling, and she didn't quite know why. She went back to the dining hall and joined Willow for the end of breakfast.

"Anything?" asked Willow.

"Zilch."

"You don't look happy about it."

"I've got a feeling we're missing something, and I can't quite pin it down."

oOoOoOo

After lunch Buffy had a free period, and went down to the library to make a few notes on the rules for cricket. She was beginning to suspect that the game must have been invented by the Watchers - she couldn't think of another sport played with sharpened wooden rods, easily usable as stakes, and heavy wooden bats, which would make neat clubs if she ever had to use one that way. She was wondering if it would be worth writing to Giles and asking him when she heard a faint whirr behind her, and Gwendolyn Post said "Miss Summers... could you help me for a moment?"

Buffy stood and turned to see her wheelchair at the bottom of a ramp that led between two different levels of the library. "Sure, what's the problem?"

"I think my battery needs recharging, the motors can't quite manage the slope, and the recharging point is behind my desk. If you could help me up the ramp..."

"Sure," said Buffy, gripping the handles and trying to pretend that it was moderately hard work.

"It can't have charged properly last night."

"Here we are," said Buffy, stopping at Post's desk. "D'you want me to plug it in for you?"

"That's all right," said Post, using a little joystick to manoeuvre it behind the desk. "Once I'm at the right spot it sorts itself out. It's quite a clever machine." There was a whining noise from under the seat, followed by a click, and an amber light lit on one of the arm rests. "There we are, it's recharging now. Ought to be done in an hour."

"What do you do while it's recharging?"

"In the library there's usually paperwork and records to organize. Upstairs the recharging point is next to my bed, it usually looks after itself while I sleep, but I've had this problem a couple of times before, I think the socket needs repairing. I'll have to get someone in to look at it."

"Right. Kinda clever really, I guess."

"When it works."

"I guess." Buffy went back to her books, with a feeling that she'd seen something important and missed its significance.

oOoOoOo

"There's still something bugging me," Buffy said that evening over tea, "a feeling at the back of my mind that I'm missing something. It was bad this morning, it's screaming at me now. Something I've seen, or that someone said, but I can't think what."

"Who have you talked to today?"

"Um... you, the postman, and the kids I was teaching before lunch. A few people while we were eating. Then I was in the library trying to get my head around the rules of cricket and talked to Post for a minute, after that there was fourth year netball, and I had to speak to the ambulance guy about that kid they were taking to hospital. That's about it, I think."

"And you were worried this morning?"

"Yeah. But the book couldn't have been delivered today, no way were any of the packages big enough."

"I wonder if they had some way to shrink it?" mused Willow. "Make it small enough and you might not have noticed."

"I doubt it," said Buffy. "About the largest thing in today's post was a package of CDs, and that came from Amazon."

"For one of the kids?"

"No, for the... oh crap."

"What?" asked Willow.

"When I was talking to Post I noticed there was some packaging in her waste basket, and there were a couple of CDs still in the box. I meant to say something, but we were talking about her wheelchair and I forgot."

"So what?"

"Don't you get it?" said Buffy, "When the kids scanned the book the first time around, they burned him onto a CD-ROM. It was a couple of days before he infected the computer network."

"Goddess. You think..."

"That Wolfram and Hart scanned the book and sent him to their customer on a disk, disguised as a package from Amazon."

"Okay. If you're right there'll probably still be some magical taint in the packaging. Let's get over there fast and check it out."

They gulped down the rest of the meal, and got out of the dining room as quickly and unobtrusively as they could. Seeing them go, Miss Fritton drained her own cup, went outside, and used her own cellphone. "The game, as they say, is afoot."

"Right you are then," said Flash Harry, "I'm on me way."

oOoOoOo

"Act nonchalant" said Buffy as they approached the library. "We don't want to tip her off we suspect anything."

"Especially if it isn't her," said Willow.

They walked in together, pretending to talk about an incident in Willow's chemistry class, and went towards the desk. One of the prefects was sitting behind it, reading a copy of Vogue and chewing gum."

"Is Miss Post around, Honor?" asked Willow.

"Gone out," said Honor.

"Out?"

"Upstairs. Said she needed to get something."

"Where's the elevator?"

"You mean a lift? What lift?"

"She's in a wheelchair," said Buffy. "There has to be an elevator to get upstairs."

"No there isn't."

"There must be," said Willow.

"It goes upstairs by itself," said Honor. "Dead clever, it is. Got gyroscopes and things."

"Then she could go anywhere in the building," said Willow. "We really got it wrong."

"There's the package," said Buffy, pointing at the bin. "But the CDs are gone."

"What CDs?" asked Honor.

"The CDs that were in that package," said Willow. "Hand them over."

"Who me?"

"Yes you."

"Bleeding liberty."

"Hand them over," said Buffy, "or wrestling class tomorrow is gonna be even more painful than usual."

"Bloody hell." Honor reached into her bag and pulled out three jewel cases. Two contained rock albums, the third, labelled as a selection of Bach's masterworks, was empty. Willow ran her hand over it, nodded, and said "It was in here, all right."

"What was?" said a familiar voice.

Buffy and Willow looked around, to see Miss Fritton standing there watching them curiously.

"We lost a disk," said Buffy, "the case ended up here, but the disk's missing."

"Where is Gwendolyn anyway?" asked Miss Fritton.

"Went upstairs," said Honor, "should be back in a minute."

"I think I can hear her coming," said Miss Fritton. She opened the swing doors at the back of the library, revealing a flight of stairs. Gwendolyn Post was coming down it, her wheelchair somehow balancing on its rear wheels and the seat leaning backward. There was a whine of motors as more wheels moved down to the step below and supported the chair as it came down a step, and repeated the process until she reached the bottom. When she was down the chair tilted back to its normal position with a final whir of servo-motors.

"My word," said Post, "Quite the reception committee."

"We were wondering..." began Willow.

"What I've done with the disk?" asked Post.

"Yeah," said Buffy.

"Oh, he's quite safe," said Post. "In fact, he's right here, and anxious to meet the people who killed him in this dimension."

"Buffy, get back," Willow said urgently.

"Where's 'here?'" said Buffy, retreating a step.

"In the most powerful computer in the school," said Post, "and one that already has all the motors and sensors he could possibly want." The wheelchair rose onto its rear wheels, then its arms changed shape and dozens of cables wrapped around her, cradling her as it transformed into a metal exoskeleton, and raised her to stand upright. A shimmering aura surrounded her, and there was the smell of ozone. "Far better than anything you had in Sunnydale."

She laughed, and added "Did you really think those bungling idiots could suppress my memories forever?" A glowing ball of energy appeared in her artificial hand, growing larger and brighter by the second. "Miss Fritton! I can walk!"

**TBC**


	14. XIII and Epilogue

Well, it's more than two years since I updated this, hope you think it was worth the wait. Many apologies for the delay, mostly caused by working too hard on other projects and losing track of my fanfic. This, believe it or not, is the final chapter.

**Deeds of Maidenly Unkindness**

_By Marcus L. Rowland_

XIII

Previously:  
_Gwendolyn Post laughed, and added "Did you really think those bungling idiots could suppress my memories forever?" A glowing ball of energy appeared in her artificial hand, growing larger and brighter by the second. "Miss Fritton! I can walk!"_

* * * * *

"Yes dear," said Miss Fritton, "I see you can. But aren't all those sparks and things awfully uncomfortable?"

Buffy picked up a chair and threw it at Post; it hit the glowing force field around her and bounced hard, thudding into a battered set of the Encyclopaedia Brittanica dating back to the 1960s. "Really, Miss Summers," said Fritton, "don't you think that this sort of horse-play belongs outside? You might damage some of the books."

"The books don't matter," said Post, throwing a fireball at Buffy, who dodged one way and pushed Willow the other. The ball hit a bookcase in the science section, setting some of the books on fire. Another fireball appeared in Post's hand, growing by the second.

"I must insist," said Fritton, "or I'll be forced to deduct any damage from your salaries." In reply Post threw the next fireball at Fritton, who ducked under it with the skill of someone who has dodged endless booby traps left by disgruntled children. It set fire to the ceiling.

A second force barrier appeared around Post, and Willow said "Get out, quick, I can only hold this for a couple of minutes." Post tried to throw another fireball at her, but it stopped a foot or so from her hand and hung there until she dismissed it with an angry gesture and lurched towards Willow, the exoskeleton moving her flaccid legs.

Willow backed away towards the door that led out of the building, with Buffy poised to throw another chair if either barrier went down, and Fritton hustled Honor and a half-dozen other students outside. Behind Post the bookshelves were burning, with flames spreading from shelf to shelf as though determined to do the maximum damage.

"One question," shouted Buffy, "why did you leave the Book of Moloch in Willow's office?"

"Post faIled my other self," said a pleasant baritone voice, coming from the chair someone near Post's waist, "she was unable to operate the scanner, and left the book behind when she fled the office."

"I thought I heard you coming back, but it was just some of the children. Before I could recover the book someone scanned it," Post added. "Now, enough of this nonsense." She raised both hands, one in a circling motion and the artificial hand holding another fireball, and threw the ball at Willow. This time it wasn't stopped, but Buffy pulled Willow out of the way. Both of them sprinted for the door, another fireball setting fire to the floor between them. The fire alarm was ringing loudly. Miss Fritton shouted "Keep her pinned down!" and ran back into the main building.

"Where's she getting the power?" said Buffy. "Is it just Moloch?"

"No," said Willow, turning back to stare at the burning building, "she's pulling it in, the lights dimmed when she threw fireballs."

Willow's cell-phone beeped, and she looked at the display and said "Moloch hit my firewalls and bounced. He'll be pulling in more power and getting ready to make his next move."

"Okay," said Buffy. "Time to pull the plug on him. Get on the phone to Kennedy, get her to take out the power lines."

"Now then, now then, no need for that," said a familiar voice from behind them. They turned to see Flash Harry holding another cellphone. He added "Do it now, Beryl," and listened. A few seconds later every light in the school buildings went out. "Good girl." He turned to Buffy and said "Won't get much power with the main fuses pulled."

"There's the UPS on the main file-servers," Willow said happily, "but without power the router won't be working, so he's still trapped. The cellphone network doesn't have the bandwidth he'd need to escape."

There was a loud crash, and the roof of the library began to collapse. A giant made of blue fire stood there, looked around, then threw an even bigger fireball down at Buffy. Willow got her hand up in the nick of time and deflected it back at the library.

"Bloody 'ell," said Harry. "Thought you said she didn't 'ave any power."

"She's taking it from the fire," said Willow, deflecting another fireball. "It can't last long."

Miss Fritton reappeared from the main building, carrying a loud-hailer, with a swarm of girls behind her, brandishing hockey sticks and other weapons. Behind them some of the sixth-formers were jogging along with a long green packing crate. "We need to get that fire out," said Buffy, "can you do anything?"

"Not without dropping my shields," said Willow.

"Okay, how much of that is Moloch, and how much is Post?" Buffy grabbed a hockey stick from a passing girl, snapped off the bent end, and threw it as a javelin. It caught fire a few feet from Moloch, crumbling into ash as it hit the main body of flame.

"About fifty-fifty."

"Keep her distracted, I've got a plan."

Willow thought for a moment, and her eyes darkened as clouds began to swirl out of nowhere, and thunder boomed across the sky. There was a flicker of lightning in the cloud, and Moloch reached towards it hungrily.

"Won't that just give 'er more power?" asked Harry.

"Would if it was real," Willow murmured. Behind her Buffy was racing towards the nearest building. From all sides girls were throwing things at Moloch; bricks, bottles, cricket and croquet balls, and an occasional rotten tomato. They melted or burned before they reached him. Buffy ran inside, and came out a moment later dragging a fire hose. Within seconds she was back by Willow's side, and twisted the valve to operate the jet. A slow trickle of brown water dribbled onto the lawn. Moloch howled his derision.

"I don't believe this," said Buffy. "What the hell's wrong with this place?"

"No dosh for servicing the plumbing," said Harry.

"Perhaps I can help," said Miss Fritton, raising her loudhailer. "Miss Post, please stop this at once. This is your last warning!"

"Burn in hell!" shouted Post / Moloch, throwing another fireball at her. Willow tried to extend her shields to cover Miss Fritton, but couldn't summon quite enough energy. Buffy tackled Miss Fritton, knocking her to one side, and did her best to shield her. Overhead the illusory thunderstorm vanished; at the last second the fireball swerved over the prone Slayer and the headmistress and flew across the grounds, detonating on the roof of the chapel and starting another fire.

Miss Fritton said "Thank you, Miss Summers," raised the loudhailer again and added "Right then... Potts, fire at will!"

The group of sixth-formers around the packing crate split apart, revealing one of the beefier girls with a long pipelike device on her shoulder. There was a gout of flame, and a streak of fire hurtled across the lawn to strike Moloch. There was a loud explosion, and metallic debris and chunks of burning flesh began to shower down. With a last scream the giant figure disintegrated into flame, and the remains of the library began to collapse. Hundreds of burning pages spread out from the debris, carrying the fire to the surrounding trees and more of the buildings. Some of the girls began to sing "Another one bites the dust," others were improvising flaming torches and setting fire to the parts of the school that weren't already ablaze.

"Okay," said Buffy. "Where the hell did they get the missile launcher?"

"I'm sure I told you," said Miss Fritton. "Potts bought it back from her holidays three years ago. I had a feeling it might come in handy."

"Hadn't we better do something about the fire?" asked Willow.

"Hmmmm... and miss out on the insurance?"

"Might be a bit difficult to claim with bits of missile lying around," said Buffy, watching the fire spread.

"I'm sure that your friends in the Watcher's Council have the influence to deflect any enquiries."

"Harry has a big mouth," said Willow.

"Harry's grandfather, actually," said Miss Fritton. "I've known about the family sideline since the seventies."

Harry smiled sheepishly, and wisely said nothing.

"Wait a minute," said Buffy, looking at the main building, now firmly ablaze "my clothes are in there!"

"Mine too," said Willow. "But Kennedy ought to be here soon, and her parents give her a very generous allowance. Not to mention a platinum AmEx card."

"Oooh, shopping. I can relate to that. Do we need to do anything more about Moloch?"

Willow concentrated for a moment, and shook her head. "He's gone. So's Post."

"I guess that's the end of our teaching practice," said Buffy. "Do you think we'll get good grades?"

"I think you can count on it," said Miss Fritton. "After all, I'm sure your Council will be making a very generous donation to the school rebuilding fund."

"I guess," said Buffy.

"Then everyone ought to be happy," said Miss Fritton.

**Epilogue**

"They're off then," said Flash Harry.

"High time too," said Miss Fritton, looking out across the assortment of tents, prefabricated cabins and caravans that now accommodated the students and staff. "I do hope that they like travelling with horses, and that there won't be any awkward questions from the Watcher's Council when the bills come in."

"Don't worry about that, they're rolling in it, and I've used some very creative h'accounting with them and the insurance. Even after rebuilding costs we stand to clear about fifty grand apiece."

"Well done, Harry."

"You know," said Harry, "if we'd realised what Post was up to we could 'ave stopped all this, long before there was any damage."

"I'd imagine so," said Miss Fritton. "Such a shame..."

"Bloody 'ell," said Harry, realisation dawning. "You knew, didn't you?"

"Once you told me that Miss Summers was a Slayer I realised that there might be... complications. Gwendolyn tried so hard to be secretive, of course, but it really isn't that easy in our small community, especially when you're making long telephone calls about extremely rare magical books. I might have had to do something about it myself, if Summers hadn't been here, but that could have been qute messy. It's so difficult to fake up a convincing... accident... at short notice. Fortunately it wasn't necessary."

"Bleedin' 'ell."

"Language, Harry. Don't forget that there are impressionable young minds around."

"Riiiight..."

"Now then, a small gin and tonic, I think, then you can tell me who you fancy for the three-thirty at Aintree..."

**End**


End file.
